


Last Boat to America

by Quamquam



Category: Supernatural
Genre: 1912, Balthazar and Crowley are dicks in this, Car Sex, Completed, Historical Event, M/M, Reasonably Fast Build, Romance, Shameless Movie Trope use, Titanic AU, Top!Cas, Topping from the Bottom, top!dean
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-19
Updated: 2013-07-30
Packaged: 2017-12-20 17:23:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 10
Words: 58,152
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/889872
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Quamquam/pseuds/Quamquam
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Titanic AU: Dean’s a rich but unhappy business man returning home to America. Castiel is a optimistic waiter who wants to see the world. When fate tangles them aboard the ship of dreams, things start looking up, but history can’t be changed, fate is an unstoppable force and love cannot conquer everything.<br/></p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Just a couple of things:  
> Archive warning and rating are there for a reason! The only other warnings are smoking, swearing, homophobia, what you would normally associate with boats sinking (drowning, angst etc) and shameful pastiching of the movie Titanic…(◡‿◡✿)  
> Large thank you to my beta, emikafett!  
> Title is from this song: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=HUH19jl4RCc  
> Enjoy

It was the biggest ship the world had ever seen, or so the papers said. Dean could believe them. The thick metal bulk of its sides and the streaming chimneys dominated the skyline, trivializing the buildings around the port. People crammed onto the white stairway that connected the sweeping upper deck to dry land, and there was a thrum of activity animating the whole harbour as beautiful red-lipped women in flourishing dresses and huge hats, young children running across the jetty and jumping with excitement and smartly-pressed men in gray and black slacks, fiddling with ties and handkerchiefs prepared to board. Dean nervously twiddled his own bow tie and craned his neck upwards to admire the swell of machinery as it pumped out cloud of steam across the clear sky. Crew and passengers jostled him, making way for large cars from which disembarked prominent people with huge cases and loud voices. Men in uniform rushed around, trying to aid people and ensure orderly embarkation. Some among the populace were queuing with quiet tuts while others made it their mission board as quickly as possible, pushing past people on the small stairway. The sun glared unashamed on scene and Dean squinted as he gazed upwards, but its warmth could not counter the wind whipping up from the sea, dulled only by the warmth of the hundreds of passengers boarding the ship, exacerbated by the crowd of thousands who had come to witness the historic occasion and wave the _Titanic_ away to sea.

It was April 1912, the _Titanic_ was supposed to be the ship of dreams and Dean was thoroughly uninterested in the whole affair. He was not a huge fan of boats nor of the turbulent sea they sailed upon, nor did he want to be involved in a huge public event that had inspired journalists from all over England to come and gawp. He just wanted to get home to Kansas and the wonderful integrity of America’s heart. This was all his father’s doing.

 _‘It’s your duty, son,’_ he had said. _‘I’m trusting you to help me further the family business,’_ he’d said. ‘ _Great opportunities for deals over in Britain,’_ he’d said. Dean had told his father to send Sam, because he liked all that pretentious crap and bad food,  but alas, Sam was whisked away to college by a scholarship, leaving Dean to sail across the damn Atlantic Ocean to argue with some men in monkey suits and ridiculous accents about a deal which needed to profit his family while maintaining an illusion of being mutually favourable. Sam, bless the kid, had been so excited to discover that Dean’s return journey coincided with the launch of this stupid boat.

“They’re calling it the ship of dreams, Dean!” He had exclaimed, reading aloud the newspaper clipping. “It’s _unsinkable.”_

The enthusiasm of Dean’s giant brother waving a paper hadn’t whet his appetite for sailing. The tag line was cheesy and unsinkable smelt like slimy British propaganda to him. Nevertheless, he had to get home from this rainy little island and so, despite not sharing Sam’s enthusiasm about how he would be able to say “ _You were on the RMS Titanic’s maiden voyage!”_ he had gone ahead and booked the ticket, which felt too heavy in his hand. Dean just wanted to get on the damn boat, hide in his cabin and hope he wasn’t seasick. He took a last look at the floor, the last solid ground he was going to feel for far too long, and stamped his foot, enjoying its steadiness beneath him.  He set his mind, nodded to himself and took the first step onto the ramp, feeling the ground push him away as he left England and began his journey home.

~

The family business was boring, clinical and made a hell of a lot of money. John Winchester had built himself up from scratch, hurling himself into work and drowning the memory of his deceased wife in shares, bonds and, increasingly, alcohol. A gentle boom in economy, some good luck and well-placed connections had paved a golden path to success and the Winchesters found themselves in a state of comfortable abundance. In the age of unprecedented new money, John Winchester was the true epitome of the American Dream. Now Sam was squireling away at university, studying law and Dean was continuing the family business, John guiding him, often from a distance, to become like him; business smart, charming and successful.

Just what Dean had always wanted.

Not.

God, he would never admit it to anyone, but he _craved_ something different. Business didn’t suit him at all. He would rather be out on the _road,_ doing something meaningful, not making money out of Mr and Mrs Average couple. He wanted to experience _life_.

 

Dean gripped the railing tightly and leaned over. Lower decks were boarding and they looked so far away, as if the lower class entrance was barely on the same ship. Dean was overwhelming aware of the difference in he and his fellow passengers, as they were herded like cattle into the lower decks, while up here a sordid English gentleman would greet him, he would be escorted to a lavish room and waited on. It was the last thing he wanted. As he gazed below, he felt simultaneously guilty for his privilege and envious of the ordinary people. He bet they would have a lot more fun than him, their shoulders free from the weight of expectation and reputation.

The queue ahead of him shuffled forward a little and he nervously smoothed his hair. A red-haired woman in front of him caught his eye and smiled. He returned it awkwardly before pretending to examine the side of the ship. It looked sturdy enough. Big bolts, sweeping sheets of welded metal. _Unsinkable._

 

The woman didn’t seem put out, and returned to the argument she was having with her mother, and stroked the head of a small blonde child that had its head buried in her skirts, though she occasionally glanced at Deanfrom under her hat.

 _“Wrong tree, ma’am,”_ he thought to himself. _“Wrong tree.”_

 

Of course, _no one_ widely accepted his type, but Dean still couldn’t help thinking, as he looked over the rail, that perhaps he might just have more chance at being himself if he had been born into a different life. Sons of reputable people were _not_ allowed to be gay. End of.

 

After a stuttered queue and a hoarse shout from the deck; “Last call for First Class Boarding!” Dean was finally handed his ticket to the inspector, who was just as uprightly British as he’d imagined, complete with brand-new uniform, a handlebar moustache and a received accent.

“Mr. Winchester?” He asked and Dean confirmed he was indeed the owner of the ticket. “First-Class to New York, one single cabin?” Dean nodded continually until the man looked at him, then he cast his eyes back down to the long register and searched for Dean’s name. 

“Excellent,” the man said and handed back his ticket.

“It is my esteemed pleasure to introduce you to Mr. Edward Smith, the Captain of this fine ship.” Dean turned and faced a middle-aged bearded man, who looked like he had been plucked straight from _20,000 Leagues_. Dean held out a hand and the man took it.

“Sir,” Dean said, nodding.

“Welcome aboard, son,” Captain Smith replied, pumping his hand before releasing. Dean wasn’t sure if he should say something, so commented; “She’s beautiful.” God, that sounded like something to say to a new mother. Thankfully Captain Smith remained unphased and replied “That she is my boy, that she is. She’ll get us there is great time, you’ll see.” Dean nodded again and the shipmate spoke “My colleague over there will escort you to your room, where your bag will be waiting. He will inform you of the system aboard this ship. Thank you for sailing with White Star Line and enjoy your crossing.” Dean grunted a thank-you, but the man had turned towards the next passenger. He glanced again at Captain Smith, but he had likewise dismissed him and was looking across the port. Dean didn’t follow his gaze as he tucked his ticket into his pocket, and instead looked to the aforementioned colleague and smiled politely. The small, enthusiastic man was charmingly American and introduced himself as Chuck.

“If you’ll come with me please, Sir,” he requested. Dean nodded and followed him across the deck and into the ship, where Chuck guided him seamlessly down stairs and through corridors. He focussed on eye on the back of the man’s head while trying to construct a mental map of the ship. Dean barely heard Chuck’s commentary, just catching glimpses; “Dinner starts at 5.30 …in case of emergency, not that that will happen, just follow the crew’s instructions!...be careful on deck, especially when cold, as it can get slippery…” Dean stopped grunting after a while, resigning to nod encouragingly whenever Chuck turned to look at him. 

 

Chuck led him down a long corridor and Dean had never seen anything so excessively luxuriant. The walls were a beautiful cream, still clean from where no one had ever touched them and the carpet was an extravagant crimson that made Dean’s strides feel like that of a king’s. Mirrors and tasteful portraits were intermittent along the walls, all framed in rich gold and large gilded numbers blinked at passers-by from the doors. Dean’s eyes flitted across it all, taking it in. He wished he’d brought his box camera to take pictures to show Sam. He would never believe all this.

“Here we are!” Chuck announced finally and rounded on Dean, “Cabin B44, which is all yours! If you should find anything unsatisfactory during your journey, find a crew member immediately and they will help you as best they can!”

“Thanks…Chuck,” Dean said. However, the man didn’t leave and hovered outside the door as Dean grasped the handle. Dean sighed as he fumbled in his pocket. Dean was sure he could have found the room on his own, though it wasn’t Chuck’s fault that Dean hadn’t listened to a word he’d said. Dean pulled out several coins and pressed them into Chuck’s palm. He beamed a thank-you and scurried away, dodging other passengers and crew coming down the corridor and Dean wasn’t sure if he’d handed him British or American currency.

The white door swung open silently, introducing Dean to his room. It was just as beautiful as outside. Large too, with a grand bed that looked like it was stolen from monarchical Europe, his own private bathroom with golden taps and a long couch with plump cushions. Dean flopped onto it, admiring the room. The ensemble was a deep red, interlaced with gold and clearly designed by someone with a perchance for excess. He gazed around a while longer and reached a conclusion. It was fucking ridiculous. There was a goddamn _chandelier_ on the ceiling. It was more like a palace than a boat. He resisted the urge to smash the expensive looking but horrendously ugly vase and leaned over to undo his suitcase and pull out a book as he awaited the tug of the engines and the start of the journey.

 

**~~~~~~~~~~**

 

“Good morning, crewmen! My name is Balthazar and I will be your supervisor for this journey. Now you have all been trained in your duties, I am merely here to welcome and brief you. So welcome!

 

“The duty of every White Star Line crew member is to the passenger. Their comfort and satisfaction is _the_ most important thing on this crossing. Remember, some of these people are influential and important citizens. Very rich too, some of them, and so they demand the best service. This also means they give the biggest tips, so it is also in _your_ interest to keep them happy.” He winked. “And remember that you are here to serve them, not become their friends. A professional air is expected at all times.

 

“Any spillages or breakages will be taken directly from your pay, so be careful. Keep idle communication to a minimum while working and we expect you to appear for your duties at the allotted time, prompt and in your provided uniforms, which must be clean and neat. We will give you each a timetable to appoint where you shall be and when.

Now, we suggest you all familiarise yourself with the menu, the layout of the dining rooms and the rest of the ship. You all know where your quarters are. The time is 11.45pm and scheduled departure is in 15 minutes. You are all on duty. Go.”

The blond British man finished his speech, remaining poised for a moment as if expecting applause, but all he received with was some mumbling from his new catering staff as they dispersed. Castiel had been on this boat for hours already and was itching to start doing something, even if it was just waiting tables. He turned to the man leaning against the wall next to him.

“Ready then?” He asked, an attempt building camaraderie. The shorter man turned towards him, eyebrow raised.

“For what? Waiting tables? Do I need to _prepare_ myself?” He said, pushing himself from the wall and up to his full stature, which was about three inches shorter than Castiel’s.

“This should be fun, no? Sailing across the wide open sea…” Castiel reached his arms out for emphasis, “On the largest luxury liner _ever_ ,” Castiel said earnestly.

The man looked incredulous. “You’re nuts,” he said. “I’m just here for the leftovers.” He held a brown paper bag towards Castiel. “Lemon drop?” Castiel raised an eyebrow and shook his head.

“No, thank you,” he said. The man shrugged and leaned back on a table, as if he was planning on taking permanent residence in the meeting room.

“Well, _I’m_ gonna go earn my keep,” Castiel announced and he walked away.

“I’m gonna stand here and eat these lemon drops, then!” The man called after him. “It’s Gabriel by the way.”

There was a beat and Castiel heard another voice behind him, which he recognised from the lecture just moments earlier; “No you are not, young man. You are going to go with him, take a leaf out of his book and do the job that we are paying you for. Unless you want to be fired before we even leave the port. It _would_ be more convenient for you to get off now than in the middle of the Atlantic Ocean.” His voice had a friendly overtone, poorly masking the irritation beneath. Castiel grinned.

“No sir, sorry sir,” Gabriel stuttered.

“Good. Now give me a lemon drop and run along,” Castiel heard the rustling of the bag and he waited in the doorway for Gabriel to catch up.

“Patronizing bastard,” Gabriel muttered as he joined Castiel and they headed down the corridor towards the stairs.

“It’s Castiel, by the way,” was all he replied as they walked together. Gabriel grunted an acknowledgment and crunched another sweet into his mouth.

“Ship of fucking dreams my ass. More like ship of underpaid manual labour,” he said and Castiel just shook his head

He’d met types like Gabriel before; lazy, unwilling to work, but kind at heart. Having lost both parents at a young age, Castiel and his brothers had been left to fend for themselves and so he had developed a strong work ethic. He’d worked his whole life around his coastal home town, odd jobs in restaurants, shops, garages and, increasingly, down by the docks. Sometimes he’d used to leave work and sit right on the edge of the bay, feet almost dangling in the sea and watch the boats sail in and out. He’d listen to the shouts of men with ropes and sails and great hauls of fish and watch the wooden masts or metal hulls breeze into the harbour. If he craned his neck enough from his tiny attic window, at night he could see the lighthouse, the tallest building for miles, blinking its persistent warning out onto the sea, yellow light sometimes mingling with the white of the moon enough to illuminate the whole port.

It was beautiful and he had wanted in on it. And now, finally, he did. And he was not about to let Gabriel ruin his dream. He was on the most impressive ship the world had ever seen and he was going to enjoy it.

~

 

“Holy Mother of God,” Gabriel snatched the words from Castiel’s mouth. “That must the biggest damn staircase in the world.” He was probably right. The huge swirl of the stairs panned across the room, dark brown wood ornate with metal patterns. A huge clock ticked at its head and a chubby angel stood on the middle banister, holding a lamp, ready to brighten the entire ensemble, once the sun had been relieved from its duty of streaming natural light through the great glass dome which covered the scene.

“It’s called the Grand Staircase for a reason,” he replied, trying to disguise the fact he too was in awe.

“There’s a dome,” Gabriel continued. “That’s a dome. Like on a cathedral or something.”

“Yes. Yes it is,” Castiel replied. No point in arguing with the obvious.

“I want to slide down those banisters something bad,” Gabriel said, mouth hanging open.

“Pull yourself together, we’ve got work to do,” Castiel said, trying to tug the other man’s wrist, who remained still for a moment longer before shaking himself and turning to Castiel.

“If they can afford to build that, they oughta pay us more. That’s all I’m sayin’,” he muttered as Castiel followed the sound of voices towards the large First-Class dining room.

They drew up to the steward who was showing people to their seats and Castiel could see others waiters inside already,  weaving around elegantly set tables. Thin wineglasses sat atop starch white table clothes, with rows of knives and forks arranged in a delicate order. Huge bunches of flowers adorned every table and the high, ornate backs of the chairs formed small corridors under chandeliers across the white and red swirled carpet. Castiel felt like an architect was repeatedly slapping him in the face with money.

“Nice of you boys to turn up,” the steward scolded when he returned from seating passengers, fake smile transformed into a pinched frown. The pair stood there, unsure of how to reply.

“Well, what are you waiting for, the Queen to come and welcome you? Get serving these customers!” He said in hushed anger, shooing with his hands. The pair scurried away.

“God, everyone here’s uptight,” Gabriel grumbled. Castiel was inclined to agree but said nothing. He composed himself and the pair split up and he approached his first table.

“Good morning, ladies and gentlemen! What can I get you to welcome you on board today?” He said enthusiastically, smiling and drawing out his new notebook. He dutifully jotted down the complicated order and bowed his leave before turning to the kitchen. It was already bustling with staff calling out orders across steaming pots and chopping knives, near-chaos compared to dining area where the only sound was a cheery piano piece that Castiel vaguely recognised. He tore the paper from his pad and slapped it in front of a man in a huge white hat, who barely acknowledged him before swiping it up and barking at various people. He saw Gabriel marching out the door with a huge bowl of soup and sidled over to him.

“ _Don’t drop it!”_ He whispered in his ear. Gabriel started and coughed eyes wide and they turned to look at Castiel, before they returned back towards the bowl, which had teetered but managed to maintain its contents.

“ _Bastard,_ ” he hissed at Castiel, but once he had composed himself and opened the door, Castiel could see he was grinning.

 

The food took surprisingly little time to prepare and soon Castiel was sweeping out the door, dishes raised high in both hands. He may be little more than a slave with a pay check, but he felt like a champion. He was on the largest and more elegant cruise liner in the world, wearing the smartest clothes he’d ever owned and he was getting _paid._

 _This is going to be amazing,_ he thought as he laid the first plate down among the cutlery and flowers.

 

 

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

Dean pushed himself up from the couch, cushions plush under his fingers and smoothed out his suit where it had crumpled from sitting too leisurely and he almost wished he had company to make this long voyage marginally brighter, although travelling alone did have the benefit of the freedom to do whatever he wanted. He vaguely remembered something about dinner being around 6 and the time had somehow slipped through his fingers, with his stomach being the only reminder that he hadn’t eaten for hours. He opened the door and headed in the direction he recalled seeing the dining area. He passed few people in the corridor, a man with a fawning woman on his arm, a mother and son bickering in the quiet demure way that people concerned with appearances do and a young girl walking beside her father. Dean nodded awkwardly to them and as he neared his destination Dean could hear a perfectly-played but unbearable piano sonata getting louder. He found himself at the foot of a huge staircase that he’d barely taken in earlier, though he remembered the dome shining through with light blue of the sky. Now it had gone a dusky gray and as the night approached, light bounced around the room for the orb of a little angel standing on the banister. The clock at the head of the stairs ticked and the noise echoed around the room. An architect somewhere had a field day designing this place.

He followed the low murmur of voices to the dining room and a slightly balding man greeted him, whom Dean smiled at with as much false amenity as he could conjure.

“Here for dinner, sir?” he asked. _Well duh,_ Dean thought, nodding and smiling.

“Dining alone tonight?” _Again, duh._ “Yes,” he said quietly. He obeyed the man’s request to follow him and was led to a two-person table lined against the wooden-panelled wall, with a huge bunch of bright roses in the middle, which struck him as a strange thing to have at sea and the man handed him a menu, with its long list of dishes written in swirling calligraphy. He nodded his thanks and scanned the page. He longed suddenly for some simple pie, like the one they made at his favourite café back home. A quick reconnaissance told him they did not offer anything similar. He was just going to have to wait until he got home …the thought was cut off by a deep voice above him. He hadn’t even noticed the waiter approach.

“Good evening, sir,” the voice said.

“Evening,” he said and turned to look.

A man about the same height as Dean smiled down upon him with the courtesy of a someone who had worked in the service industry for a long time.

His hair was a mess - it looked like he’d just been out in the wind and his eyes were the exact colour the English sky had been when they left the port and he reminded Dean of the cool spring day they’d left behind and he looked somewhat out of place among the rich reds of the room, as if he were a gust of wind that had been trapped breezing through the room.

He was about the most gorgeous man Dean had ever seen and was staring right at him.

He was also saying something, and Dean snapped his mind forwards to listen to the words.

 

“I will be your waiter this evening. Are you ready to order?” the man continued, a soft duet with the insistent voice in Dean’s brain that was repeating; _Well, this isn’t so bad._

He hated that little voice. He wanted to punch it in the face. He smiled awkwardly up at the waiter’s face, which had tilted in expectation at Dean’s silence. God, that was cute. He was all cheekbones and full lips and eyes that sparkled with intelligence and, wait, and was that… _amusement?_

 _‘Great now he’s laughing at me’,_ Dean thought and realised he still hadn’t said anything.

“Yeah,” he spluttered out, not even knowing if that was a correct response to what the man had said.

“Are you alright?” the waiter asked, the concern in his voice betrayed by the huge grin which seemed to encompass the entirety of the lower half of his face.

“Yeah, fine,” he said, hoping to everything holy that his face wasn’t as red as it felt. He wasn’t quite sure what had just happened. He was usually relatively smooth with people; they likened to his relaxed attitude and easy jokes. Dean had apparently lost that particular ability, stole by a pair of laughing blue eyes.

“Great! What would you like to order this evening, sir?”

 _‘Pull yourself together’,_ he commanded himself. He had never been the type to get flustered in front of a pretty face and if his too-hot cheeks and the uneasy feeling in his stomach were anything to go by, he should learn to control himself.

“Soup,” he said, opting for what he hoped was a safe option. “Please,” he added as an afterthought and realised he hadn’t blinked for a long time. If this had made his server feel uncomfortable, he didn’t show it but instead dropped his eyes down to the paper pad in his hand. His head was directly between Dean and a chandelier and the back drop of light from it gave his entire head and torso a thin aura of light, like some sort of angel.

“Which flavour would that be, sir?” the waiter said looking up and into Dean’s eyes again. Dean broke the contact instantly, not wanting to lose the calm he had finally composed.

“Tomato?” he asked, hoping they would have it. Tomato soup was his favourite. What if they didn’t have it? What if he looked like an idiot for ordering it? What if he spilt it everywhere? Soup was unwieldy at the best of times and he didn’t trust his hands to obey his brain right at the moment. Ordering soup was a bad idea, but the black-haired man had already nodded and written something on his paper.

“Coming right up!” he said. No-one should have the right to be _that_ cheery and _that_ good-looking. “My name is Castiel, in case you missed that the first time,” Dean tugged at his collar, embarrassed that Castiel had noticed Dean’s moment of rapture.

“If you need anything else this evening, just call,” and with that he whipped away. Dean wanted to call after him, “ _I just need you to stay here smile at me for a while longer.”_  He’s sure _that_ would have gone down well.

He watched the man walk away, then shook himself. If he wasn’t careful he was going to out himself to the entire ship. He glanced around, but the room was sparsely populated and no-one saw the little episode. It was still embarrassing though, getting flustered over his _waiter_. Castiel probably thought he was a compete idiot.

 _Nice name,_ he thought idly and slid off his jacket. It was far too hot in the room. He looked down at the table, where the menu still lay open. He couldn’t remember if he knew how to read.

 

**~~~~~~~~~~**

It had been a long time since Castiel had gotten a strong reaction out of anyone, much less someone who looked like that.  Castiel may have been confident in his abilities to smile his way to generous tips, but he never expected anyone like _that_ to get hot and bothered over him - a rich business man who probably had a harem of women wanting to marry him. If he had learned anything from that encounter it was that he had a new appreciation for green eyes.

Of course, he could have read the situation wrong. But he recognised the double take that the man had undergone when he looked at Castiel. It was the exact same one that Castiel did when he first laid _his_ eyes on the patron. Castiel had been surprised - no-one takes notice of the waiter. Something about the fact that the man had even looked at his as more than a tool to deliver his food said something about him; he wasn’t completely up his own arse like every other passenger so far seemed to be.

He _had_ to be queer. There was no that the blush that had crept up his face and the way he looked at Castiel as though he’d never seen someone with blue eyes before had been completely heterosexual. Either that or the man had a stutter and crippling anxiety. Castiel was now suitably intrigued and gave the soup order to the chef with a small request of _hurry._

~~~~~

 

Castiel laid the bowl carefully in front of Dean, who was sorely aware of how close the waiter’s arm was to his chest as he leaned across him. He withdrew and Dean turned to him and gave a nod of thanks.

“Smells good,” he said stupidly.

“Tastes even better,” Castiel said brightly, but he didn’t go away and Dean wasn’t sure whether he was supposed to say something else.

“I’ll be the judge of that,” he said and realised that sounded pretty lame. But Castiel grinned, a huge grin that spread across his face and simultaneously across Dean’s brain. If embarrassing himself caused that smile to appear, Dean was perfectly happy to make a fool out of himself any day.

“Enjoy,” Castiel said and Dean nodded again. As he left, however, he gave Dean a small wink, so subtle Dean wasn’t sure if he had imagined it but before he could analyse it, the wink and the waiter were gone.

 _‘Had they been flirting?’_ He thought in horror. Dean hoped they hadn’t been - if his flirting prowess had descended to talking about soup, he was losing it. Dean hardly dared believe that might actually be so inclined as to flirt with another male, rather than the reams of attractive women that occupied the room. Dean tried to brush it off and turned other matters, like the food in front of him. The soup really was good. It didn’t take long at all to finish and soon he was staring at the shell design on the bottom of the bowl where it had been. He was glad that ordeal was over. He wanted to return to his room and his book and hide his face forever from the waiter who probably thought Dean tried to pick up men by flirting about _food._ He didn’t want to disturb Castiel by waving him over because he looked so busy. Dean watched the way he moved through the narrow passages of the tables with simple grace and how he talked so easily to all the customers, smiles open and jokes given out freely. It dampened his mood slightly to realise Castiel wasn’t actually treating him differently to anyone else. He wasn’t sure why he had deluded himself that he would. Besides, waiters were paid to be courteous.

Dean didn’t think he would be getting paid to wink though, and noticed pathetically that no-one else got one from the blue-eyed man.

 

When Castiel saw that he’d finished, he made a beeline towards Dean, smiling again and scooping up the bowl.

“Well, what did I tell you?” he said as he leaned over again. “Good or what?”

“Definitely,” Dean replied, smiling and leaning back in his chair a little. As Castiel’s eyes were cast downwards at his task of clearing the table, Dean took the opportunity to take a selfish look at the man’s face. He was still handsome, of course, but he looked tired. Dean respected the fact that he still managed to give out the air of energy that he did and Dean felt slightly guilty. He’d probably been an irritating customer; one of many who fell for his pretty face and spent the rest of their stay pseudo-harassing him. Dean wanted to say sorry for acting stupidly but the words got lost when Castiel turned back to look at him.

“Would you like to order anything else?” he asked, eyebrow raised, probably at the fact he’d caught Dean staring. Dean willed himself not to blush.

“No,” he said lightly, “No, that was adequate thanks.” Castiel nodded and took a step back as Dean began to rise out of his chair, tucking it in behind him and searching for the arm holes of his jacket. The fact Castiel was still watching him seemed to have a negative effect on his motor control and he couldn’t find them.

“Here,” Castiel said, putting the crockery he was carrying back on the table, “Let me help you, sir.”

“Oh,” Dean said. “You don’t have to…I mean now you’ll have to pick up all that stuff again.” Embarrassment and shock at the man’s kindness had done nothing to help his eloquence.

Castiel leaned forward, his hand brushing Dean’s shoulder and he deftly remedied the fold that was causing Dean all his problems in life.

Except for the problem that _was_ Castiel. He wasn’t sure that would be rectified any time soon, as long as he was on this damn boat.

Dean slid his arm in, with a “Thank-you,” that was probably too reverent for the purpose, but Castiel just slapped his shoulder and smiled, beginning to pick up the cutlery again.

A tip. He needed to tip Castiel; but remembered he’d given all his coins to Chuck. He tapped his breast-pocket and felt a folded wad of paper in there. He retrieved it, but was dismayed.

“I would tip you, but I’ve only got this English rubbish,” he said, opening out the note forlornly. Castiel laughed.

“No problem, sir!” he said, arms full again. “Have a wonderful evening.”

“Thank-you so much,” Dean said, turning towards the door.

As he left he thought he heard a quiet, “Thank-you,” in reply but did not stop to check. He just wanted to go back to his cabin.

Well actually, he just wanted to hide under a rock in embarrassment, but the cabin would have to do for now.

 

**~~~~~~~~~~**

The rest of the evening was too uneventful - it didn’t distract Castiel from his thoughts as he cleared away plates and took orders. He thought of the green-eyed man who’d looked so uncomfortable, and so attractive. He thought of the way his mouth had flickered shyly when he smiled at Castiel and the way he’d seemed genuinely thankful for his help. The way Castiel had touched his shoulder and felt the incredibly human heat radiate off him…and with that thought, he prayed that this shift end quickly for he was clearly losing it.

Thankfully the night was soon upon them and passengers to clear out, leaving he and Gabriel to strip the room down completely and begin to lay breakfast.

“That was tedious,” Gabriel moaned, scrubbing at a particularly persistent stain on one of the tables while Castiel busied himself, playing a game of ‘how many glasses can I fit on this tray at once?’ It was a boring game and typically dangerous if one misjudged and sent shards of broken glass shattering across the floor.

“Not so bad,” he countered, lifting the tray. Gabriel just huffed and tucked his dishcloth back in his pocket.

Castiel took a look around the room. One table down, about fifty to go.

It was going to be a long evening, especially if Gabriel kept making those little irritated noises every time Castiel requested he do his job and actually clean something. as soon as he was done here, he was going to go up on deck and steal some time alone to appreciate that he was on the largest ship in the world, speeding across the Atlantic Ocean at more knots than he’d ever travelled.

“This is the life,” he announced, loading yet more crockery into piles. Gabriel just looked at him like he’d gone completely insane. And Castiel wondered if he had. His developing obsession with green eyes and dimples could be considered a symptom of that. But Gabriel didn’t know about that, nor did he understand why Castiel had said it, but this was exactly where Castiel wanted to be right now.

 

**~~~~~~~~~~**

 

Dean needed some fresh air or something. His huge room felt cramped and stuffy and his legs were starting to twitch. Only problem was that he was still on this damn boat and the only walking space was out on deck, which had the uninhibited minus of being completely exposed to cold and wind. However, he needed to get away from this excessively designed space and take a breather. He closed his eyes for a moment and stood, testing the movement of the ship. He could barely detect he was sailing at all, and deduced it must be a calm night. He slipped off his bowtie, which annoyed him no end, and changed into a slightly less uncomfortable jacket and set off. The First Class area was quiet, not even the tinkle of a piano nor did a single voice disturbed it. It was nice; he needed to clear his head.

Clear his head of that damn waiter.

Oh god.

Dean didn’t as a rule, fall for superficial charms and pretty looks from strangers but there was something so intriguing about the man with the eyes that looked like they held the answers to the universe and the supple sway of his body that suggested he held experience and an awareness of the world - everything Dean wanted to have. Not to mention he was fucking hot.

Of course, Dean didn’t even know if the man was queer. Hell, he might have a wife and kids back home. Or even on board. He was jumping to a conclusion, deluding himself that the moment their eyes connected held something special for the man too. The ghost of his smile didn’t leave Dean’s mind as he ascended the stairs. Pathetic, really.

 

He braced himself for the cold night air but didn’t brace himself enough. It slapped him in the face as he reach the upper deck and pushed open the door. The deck was vast and adorned with lounge chairs, empty in the dying evening and tiny parcels of lifeboats were tucked away from view. He absent minded counted them as he admired the design of the boat. It was well illuminated and by this light, Dean could see he was completely alone up here. It must have been later than he thought. The brown floorboards of the deck stretched out in front of him and beyond that was the vast ocean, spanning out in every direction, lit only by a sliver of light from the half-moon and the artificial glow of the ship as it powered through the calm waters. He moved forward, towards the rail that separated the inner and outer deck and leaned heavily on it, ignoring the cold air, and his visible breath as it curled, slicing through the darkness. He closed his eyes for a moment and he was no longer on a ship - he’s was on dry land and It was warm and green and steady… Dean allowed himself this little perversion just for a moment.

He heard the door he’d just come through close behind him and he dragged his eyes open and turned his head, a quick glance to see who had disturbed his peace.

 

The last person he wanted to see was closing the handle and stamping his feet. Dean’s eyes darted for an exit but there was none. He could only pretend not to have noticed him.

Too late. Castiel looked up, and despite the distance between them, Dean saw a smile spread across his face and his own mouth returned it without consulting his brain.

“Hello,” Castiel called, and walked towards him. He seemed more relaxed, but was still in uniform. Dean turned his head back across the water as Castiel drew up to Dean’s right.

“Evening, sir,” he said. “Rather chilly to be outside.” Dean watched Castiel’s elbows join his in leaning on the rail.

 _Sir._ God he hated that. So formal, yet so lazy. Calling someone sir meant you didn’t have to know their name, that level of acquaintance never breached.  

“Dean,” he replied, the word floating in his breath before it dissolved away. “Call me Dean.”

“Alright then,” Castiel said and Dean turned his head and saw him smile.

“And yes. It’s cold out,” he replied, remembering the second part of Castiel’s opener. Castiel was still grinning.

“I love it though,” he said.

“What?”

“Being out here. I love the sea…it’s beautiful, don’t you think?”

“Hmm,” Dean hummed. “Never really thought about it.”

“Oh trust me,” Castiel replied with reverence. “It’s wonderful, especially at night. Why don’t we go and have a proper look?” Castiel said straightening up.

“I’m…I’m alright here,” Dean said. He hoped Castiel couldn’t see him blush in the dark. Castiel turned to lean his side against the railings so he was facing Dean properly.

“You a nervous sailor?” he asked, the tiniest lilt of a laugh in his voice. Dean didn’t reply, just bit his lip and stared forwards. “Thought you looked uncomfortable earlier,” Castiel said, grinning. Dean wanted to scream _that wasn’t because of the boat,_ but refrained, instead meeting Castiel’s eyes and forced a smile back, which turned into a real one at his companion’s amusement until they were both laughing. Castiel stepped forwards to slap him on the shoulder then turned to his original direction, but didn’t move away. His hand lingered for a moment then he brought it back down to the rail. They were almost elbow to elbow. Quiet fell for a moment, save for the sound of waves splashing.

“If it helps, my old dad used to reckon one day we’ll have flying machines instead, to transport passengers, so no more sailing.” Castiel said, hands dangling lazily over the rail. “’Course, he often came up with a lot of shit, if you’ll excuse my language, but he was sometimes strangely prophetic.”

“That ain’t any comfort! Flying machines, that’s gotta be way more fucking dangerous!” Dean replied, not even wanting to _imagine_ the horrors that flying would cause.

Castiel seemed to be grinning to himself and Dean wondered if he’d said that on purpose just to scare him a little more. He was also talking about his father in the past tense and he wondered if Castiel had lost him. Dean could sympathise with that.

Castiel had instinctively looked at the sky when mentioning flying machines and announced to Dean; “the stars are beautiful tonight. Almost a cloudless sky.” Dean mirrored the upwards inclination of his head. It was true. The sky was a deep black that gave the comforting illusion of stillness and calm, save for the hundreds of tiny stars. It looked like someone had shaken a salt shaker full of twinkles over the sky and left them there to shine.

“You one of them stargazer people?” Dean asked.

“They’re called astronomers,” Castiel said, quieter now, his voice had lost its tease. It somehow made sense that this guy would have all sorts of weird hobbies, spending time with his head in the clouds. Or more appropriately the stars. Dean could imagine him up there, shining with them.

“Not an interest of yours?” Castiel asked, drawing his eyes away from the sky and towards Dean again.

“I’ve never really looked at them,” he said, but now he had he could completely appreciate them and didn’t look down, despite the awkward angle of his neck.

“Shame,” Castiel said. “They’re lovely.”

“If you’re such an expert, then show me. Haven’t they all got names and things?” Dean said. He wasn’t sure if he really cared about stars or he just wanted Castiel to keep talking. He wanted to keep him interested, so he didn’t leave.

“I’m no expert, Dean,” he said laughing, “but alright. Crash course,” and he turned back towards the sky, eyes flitting across its expanse before settling parallel to the bow of the boat.

“See that square there,” he said, arm reaching across Dean to point into the night. Dean followed the line of arm, eyes raking over the long fingers at the end and turning his head 90 degrees to see what Castiel was trying to show him. “With the three dots in the middle? That’s Orion.” Castiel continued. “Probably the most recognisable constellation.”

Dean could see why. It was huge. How had he never noticed it before? He really had never looked.

“And what’s it supposed to be? A box?”                   

Castiel laughed lightly, hand dropping back to the rail and leaning so he could see past Dean.

“He’s the Hunter. And that bright one there is his dog Sirius.”

“I’ll take your word for it,” Dean said. Dean took his eyes away from the constellation and turned his head back towards Castiel, who was straight up again. Dean could see his bright blue irises, reflecting the lights of the sky, making them shine, making it look like the whole universe was trapped in their swimming blue, wide and appreciative, as if Castiel had captured the stars and put them inside himself so Dean could experience them. Castiel’s profile was carefully highlighted, and he was smiling, no longer a manic grin, but more a look of wonderment, as if he was seeing the sky for the first time. His cheeks and nose had gone a delicate pink in the cold, giving his whole face a gentle flush.

The entire universe was spread out in front of him and Dean couldn’t tear his eyes from Castiel.

Castiel seemed intent on stargazing and Dean’s brain had disconnected from his mouth, so they stood in silence for a moment, Dean staring ashamed but unstopping at the man beside him.

“You’re a strange one, aren’t you,” Castiel said, not looking at Dean but clearly addressing him.

“Excuse me?” Dean said, taken aback slightly.

“You’re not like the others in your class…You’re _talking_ to me. You seemed uncomfortable earlier in their environment.”

“You don’t know nothing,” Dean said indignantly.  


“I’m not trying to offend you. Sorry,” Castiel said, dropping his eyes down to the deck.

“You’re not.” Dean said, sighing.

“I see,” Castiel said, swinging back and forwards on his toes, using the rail for momentum.

“See what?” Dean asked, turning his whole body to face Castiel.

“You.”

The word hung visibly in his cold breath for a moment. Dean didn’t know how to reply, so left it to dissipate until Castiel started again. “I get it. You feel like you don’t fit into your family or whatever. Don’t like the social crowd you’re forced into. Not too keen on etiquette and manners.” He was grinning again.

 Dean looked at the floor. “Am I really that easy to read?” he asked.

“Maybe not to everyone else. Or even anyone else. But I’m curious about you. I want to know more.”

“Nothing to know.”

“I bet that’s not true,” Castiel ceased his swinging to stop and mirror Dean’s position so they faced each other. “What is it then? Rich boy trying to rebel from his overprotective family? Doesn’t like being mollycoddled by money?”

“’S not like that,” Dean said.

“Alright…can’t live up to the expectations put upon him by his status?”

“Stop it!” Dean said indignantly, hands clenching into fists.

“Wants to be free from the arbitrary rules of society?”

“Fuck you!” Dean said, turning away angrily. “Stop trying to analyse me!” This guy was right inside his head and they’d been talking for barely 10 minutes.

“Oh,” Castiel said, almost proud. “I’ve hit something there.” Dean didn’t say anything. “A life without barriers….interesting.”

“You’re cocky for a serving boy,” Dean spat.

“Hey, you don’t get to pretend to be better than me when you feel like it. Using class against me’s a little hypocritical don’t you think, considering how you seem to hate it.” Castiel frowned.

“Sorry. That was rude,” Dean said, quickly but meaning it. ‘ _Insult the one person who understands why don’t you? ‘_ He cursed himself.

“No problem.” Castiel replied, swinging again. It was agitating Dean slightly.

There was an awkward pause.

“I’ll let you in on a secret, though,” Castiel broke the silence. “No-one’s free, really. Not the rich with money enough to do anything. Not the poor with their burdens free of expectations. _All men are born free but everywhere they are in chains.”_ he quoted. The mood turned sombre as Dean mulled over it. He didn’t want to think like that…he wanted to believe that there was always hope, that if he had been born into another life he would be happier. He didn’t want to consider that whatever fate tossed you, the same problems arose in slightly different ways.

“Wait…did you just quote Rousseau?” Dean asked, realising where he’d heard the line before.

“I read,” Castiel admitted. “A lot. I agree with him though. Fit into your allotted places in society, work, grow old. Die without ever having lived.”

“I hate rules.” Dean said angrily. “Can we just rip them out? Rewrite the book without hierarchy and barriers?”

“No-one likes society…except those who benefit from it and those are the people that fit in.” Castiel’s voice had gone much quieter and he was still once again. Dean found himself leaning in a little to hear him. The temperature had dropped further and Dean was shivering in his coat, but he didn’t care.

“Is that you then? Not fitting in?” he asked.

Castiel didn’t say anything for a while. Then “Every human is a free spirit trapped in a human vessel.” he said and left it there. Dean took a moment to think. It was too late to get that deep.

“Good thing you got a good-looking one then,” he said, trying to raise the mood, before starting in horror at what he’d just said. He watched his dignity fly away from him and a deep blush creep up. Oh _god_ that was inappropriate, never mind the fact he’d been thinking it all evening. He dared not look at Castiel’s reaction, but he heard it.

Castiel spluttered slightly then laughed, a deep hearty laugh. It was a beautiful sound, mincing through the night and Dean caught its contagious virus and soon they were laughing together, leaning against the rail as they shook. It was a glorious release of tension and Dean relaxed into it fully, laughing with relief and amusement.

“Thank-you, by the way,” Castiel said, wiping a tear. Dean just laughed again.

Silence fell, but this time it wasn’t awkward. However the cold crept back in and Dean could feel his hands going numb. The cold metal railing was sucking out all their warmth.

“Well I’m going to look over the side,” Castiel announced, pushing himself upright and gracefully clambered over the bars, rather than walk to the gap, so he was facing Dean on the outer deck. “Going to have a look at the water. Coming?”

“No thank-you,” Dean replied, smile gone, looking down in slight embarrassment.

“Come on.”

Dean shook his head.

“You’re the one who wants freedom and to be released from his confines. Before you start breaking down the rules of society, how about you master your own fear?”

That seemed like a strange argument to Dean, but Castiel’s face was earnest and smiling.

“Freedom doesn’t mean I have to be suicidal,” Dean replied.

“Gee, what you think’s gonna happen? You won’t fall.”

“Why take that risk?” Dean said. Castiel’s eyes were bright again, face so enticing and positively glowing in the gentle light.

“Isn’t that what free will’s all about? Taking risks,” he said, reaching out a hand. Dean didn’t take it. He was getting less and less convinced by his arguments and didn’t reply.

Castiel withdrew his hand back to his hip. “Fine. You saying you’re too much of a nancy rich boy?” his voice had a teasing edge which riled up Dean’s pride.

“I didn’t say anything!” he countered.

Castiel tilted his head, a ‘ _can’t fool me’_ expression on his face.

“I’m not the pampered little prince you think I am!” Dean insisted, straightening up in an instinctive attempt to maintain his honour.

“Prove it,” Castiel said simply, smile playing round his other-wise serious face.

“What?” Dean spluttered, hand still on the rail.

“Prove it,” he repeated.

“You’re a frigging child!” he said, astonished.

Castiel just grinned manically. “Prove it or you’re a nancy rich boy forever.”

This was ludicrous. Dean was 12 years old and being dared to climb on the schoolyard roof all over again. He never liked to refuse a challenge, especially from his peers.

“I…I… _fine!_ ” He said indignantly, ripping his hands from the rail and stuffing them in his pockets, where his fingers rubbed together like icicles that could share no warmth. “What have I got to do then?” he said angrily. He didn’t know why Castiel had got quite so under his skin. Perhaps because Castiel seemed to know him inside out, and was pushing all the buttons Dean had. He wasn’t pampered. He wasn’t a pathetic kid who was scared of grazing his knee. Just scared of drowning. Fine, it was an irrational fear but he didn’t want to earn the title Castiel was threatening him with.

_He wanted to impress him._

_He didn’t want Castiel to leave without Dean going with him._

Castiel looked around, smiling, wind blowing his hair and Dean followed his gaze. Dean thought he was looking at Orion again before he spoke;  
“You have to go stand right there,” he said, pointing. Dean followed his arm again. “Right at the bow where the two sides meet.” Dean looks at it.

“That’s fucking cruel,” he said, indignant. His pride was going to be the death him.

“Did I mention no hands?” Castiel said and Dean snapped his head back towards him. His face was serious, but his eyes had a hint of tease. Bastard.

“What the hell is wrong with you? Do you enjoy torturing people?” he said, frowning.

“If you’re too chicken…” Castiel said, a cheeky grin covering his face.

“I ain’t no pansy!” Dean said, flustered and nervous.

“All your high-class grammar disappears when you’re flustered,” Castiel commented, smiling. “It’s adorable.”

“That’s it. Fuck you.” Dean replied. “Fuck you a lot.”

He turned and strode towards the bow, as he nears the waves seem to get louder and more in focus. He could see little bumps in the water, the way they rolled to and from the boat, in constant motion. The ship was so damn big that the walk took far too long and by the time he got there he was thinking it might just be easier to jump off the side. The railings didn’t look anywhere near as sturdy as they did from afar.

He turned to see Castiel was barely four feet behind him, smiling encouragingly. His teasing expression had disappeared. He looked gorgeous in this light, eyes shining, eyebrows raised. The sight was all Dean needed to turn around and take the final step up. He heard a footstep behind him and Castiel was suddenly very close, slightly to his side. He could feel a light tickle of breath on his neck.

“I wouldn’t recommend looking down,” Castiel said softly in Dean’s ear.

So of course he does.

Damn, he’s high. It was like standing on the roof of a tall building, but instead of hard ground, there were turning waves, crashing against the side and making white rims of surf and somehow that seems a hundred times worse. He gripped the railings tighter, his hands white with cold. He looked ahead again. There was something mesmerizing about the way the ship powered forwards as if nothing in the world could stop her. 

Then Dean felt a gentle sensation on the back of his right hand and he jumped, looking down at it. A slightly smaller hand was covering it and he was momentarily distracted from the waters below. He focused on the sensation. Castiel’s hand was as cold as his own. Shakily, he said “You said that on purpose.”

“Would I do that?” Castiel replied, voice low and directly in his ear.

“Probably,” Dean whispered.

Castiel moved imperceptibly closer, his breath now tickling the shell of Dean’s ear. He whispered gently “ _I said no hands,”_ and his head was almost in the crook of Dean’s neck and if he survives this he’s going to have dreams about that voice…beautiful dreams.

Dean turned his head slightly. They were close. Too close.

“If I fall, my ghost is gonna haunt you,” he muttered.

“You won’t. I won’t let you.” and an arm curled around his waist from behind. Dean’s breathing stopped. The intimacy of the moment made Dean shiver unwillingly. His heart was pounding too fast, but no longer from fear. Castiel was _so close,_ and he was holding him, rubbing small circles on his hand and Dean felt he was about to faint from longing. He wondered if it would it be inappropriate to turn around and kiss the man ‘til his lips were red and he was gasping for breath.

Probably.

“I’ve got you,” Castiel whispered against his neck. “Come on.”

His voice sent shudders through Dean’s spine straight to his stomach. Fuck.

He saw a choice dangling in front of him. Take his hands off the rail and potentially die, but have spent his last moments with this mysterious and gorgeous man’s hands wrapped around him or chicken out, run away and never be able to look at him again. It’s not even difficult. He moved his hands up, just a few inches off the rail at first.

“There we go,” Castiel says, still a whisper.

“Don’t let go, please” Dean said, shame left somewhere behind him, writhing in embarrassment on the deck.

“I’m not, I’m not,” Castiel reassured, but he moved his hands under Dean’s elbows and pushed them up until his arms are stretching horizontal. He felt like a little kid pretending to be a bird. It was ridiculous, but Castiel was there, close and comforting, body warm against his, a sturdy life line that Dean mentally clung to.

The new position of his arms made him feel off balance and he felt a little bile of panic rise in him. “Cas seriously, I’m gonna fall.”

“You keep saying that,” Cas whispered, “But it’s okay, I’ve got you. Now close your eyes,” the words slipped enticingly into Dean’s ear and Castiel’s hand’s moved from his elbows and migrated to his sides, pushing slightly and holding him close. Dean couldn’t breathe. He couldn’t think. There was no way he had the capacity to close his eyes and survive. He couldn’t feel anything except an insistent press of fingers that tickled his side and send blood and his mind rushing to all the wrong places.

“If you push me,” he stuttered, unsure of what the end of his sentence is.

 “I try _not_ to kill people I like,” Castiel said and he felt Castiel smile, his cheek twitching against Dean’s neck and he finally closes his eyes.

“There you go,” Castiel murmured. “You’re perfectly safe.”

Behind Dean’s eyes he could still see. He saw a thousand fireworks going off in front of him, but the world no longer existed. There was just himself standing on eternity and Castiel pressed flush behind him, an anchor to his mind.

It’s perfect.

“It’s like flying,” he gasped. It’s sad that that’s probably not the most pathetic thing he’s said all day.

“Almost,” Castiel murmured. But he couldn’t see inside Dean’s head. He _was_ flying.

Castiel’s arms curled further around Dean’s waist from behind and held Dean tightly against him. Dean instinctively leaned his head back a little against Castiel’s shoulder and his hands moved down from their perch to cover Cas’s.

He didn’t know how long they stayed like that, time irrelevant. He could hear Castiel’s breath on his neck, both their heart’s beating inside their chests, the crash of waves miles below him…

Wait, _what?_

In a sudden rush, Dean turned himself around in a surprised Castiel’s arms and pushed him back slightly, so Cas fell  off the step, Dean following him in a imprecise movement. He could feel the wind again, it’s cold bite and the sway of the boat.

“ _Shit,”_ he said.

A hand rested on his back.

“You alright?” Castiel asked, slight concern lacing his voice, but he’s smiling a little. _Bastard._

“Yeah,” Dean panted. “I just…fuck…I could have died.” There had been nothing to stop him falling to his doom.  
Well, except Castiel. Dean felt slightly guilty that he’d forgotten that in the imagined peril of the moment. The more circles Castiel rubbed in to his back, the more he felt like an idiot.

“I had you,” Castiel said soothingly. Dean straightened up.

“I know…sorry…just panicked.” he said smiling. “That was pretty lame, huh.” He said laughing. Castiel rested a hand on his shoulder and gazed intensely at him, Dean still breathing too heavily.

“You were safe,” Castiel assured. Dean nodded.

Safe in Castiel’s arms. That had been a nice place to be.

Castiel clapped him on the shoulder again before thrusting his hands in his pockets and he leaned against the railings, almost perfectly framed by the four stars of Orion. His centre of gravity seemed a little too high to be safe and it unnerved Dean that he was smiling all over his face.

Dean wanted to grab him and kiss him that smile off him.

“You did good.” he said and Dean raised an eyebrow. “Prefer flying to sailing then?” he asked.

Dean nodded, blushing _again._ “That was a silly thing to say,” he justified. “Sorry.”

“No…” Castiel said, looking to his right across the ocean, profile outlined perfectly by starlight. “I…I felt it too,” he said quietly.

He looked like a Greek statue, all grace and majesty. Dean felt like an idiot who’d just come down from a fit of unnecessary panic. _Oh wait._

“Am I supposed to thank you?” he asked, “for over-coming my fears or some shit?”

Castiel turned back towards him and began to walk forwards. “The look on your face is thanks enough.”

Dean swiped at his face automatically and Castiel laughed as he passed, pushing Dean’s shoulder slightly so he turned around and then motioned a head towards the door.

“It’s a lovely face, though.” he said and began to walk away. Dean was taken aback, that sentence representing the trails of the _moment_ he thought they’d just had and he wondered if he should reply, but before he could think of one, Castiel was already too far away and instead Dean jogged to catch up, face probably ten shades deeper red than usual.

They reached the door and Dean’s hand hovered for a moment above the handle.

Castiel held out his hand to Dean and motioned his head backwards.

“I’ve got to go in the peasant door to go to get to my bed so I’m afraid this is where we part,” Castiel said.

“Shut up,” Dean replied intelligently and grabbed the hand. He wondered how long he could savour in the hold before it became creepy.

“Goodnight, your highness,” Castiel said, withdrawing his hand to a mock-bow.

“Shut up,” Dean said again, but grinned along with Castiel. They nodded at each other, slightly awkwardly and Dean turned to the door. Castiel began to walk across the deck and Dean watched how his body moved, not phased at all by the rocking of the boat or the whip of the wind.

“Oh, and Cas?” he called after him.

Castiel stopped and turned.

“Thank-you,” Dean said quietly.  Castiel just smiled.

“Goodnight, Dean.” he said and Dean opened the door and clamoured into the warmth.

He was glad he’d got on this boat now, because today had been totally surreal, terrifying and brilliant. In all, he wasn’t really sure what had happened, but he did know one thing; Castiel had left his imprint and Dean was sure he didn’t want it to fade.

 

 


	3. Chapter 3

Castiel was awoken in his bunk by an insistent finger pressing into his side. As he slid back into consciousness and the celling almost came into view, he had the vague feeling that he had been having a good dream…

He couldn’t quite remember why, but he was really happy…he had been looking forward to waking up last night.

It definitely wasn’t in anticipation of someone poking his ribs and he rolled over obligingly to look at the perpetrator. It was Gabriel. Of course.

“Morning, sunshine,” Gabriel said, far too brightly. “You slept right through the wake-up call.”

Castiel groaned outwardly, but within he felt something push…he was still fogged up by sleep and couldn’t remember what was happening…

 _Dean_.

The memories came to him in a flood and Castiel grinned. He rubbed his eyes and sat up, blood rushing to his head and he temporarily lost his vision, but he didn’t allow that to stop him slinging one leg then the other over the edge bed and he landed on the floor with the elegance of a baby deer.

“S’alright,” Gabriel said nonchalantly. “The dining room won’t disappear without you.”

He was eating candy again, a fact Castiel barely registered as he searched the room for his clothes. Shirt, trousers, shoes, tie. Tie. He’d lost it. He fumbled for a few seconds before he heard a laugh behind him and turned to see Gabriel dangling the article in front of him.

“You are so childish _,_ ” he muttered, snatching his possession and it slithered out of Gabriel’s hand with a slap. He tied it as they walked out of the room and along the corridor.

“Why you in such a hurry?” Gabriel said, a few feet behind him, Castiel’s haste not affecting his preference for a leisurely stroll.

 “I don’t want to get fired on my first day,” he provided and Gabriel laughed out something that was probably along the lines of ‘goody-goody,’ but Cas ignored him.

Screw professionalism. He wanted to see the curious man again as soon as possible. If being a model employee was a by-product of that, then so be it. Jobs came and went, but someone who managed to capture Castiel’s eye and interest in such a short time didn’t come round too often. He was perversely and disproportionately excited.

 _‘It’s been one day. One day and you’ve completely lost it,’_ he scolded himself.

He was in deep that’s for sure. The fact Gabriel was half-jogging to keep up with him was evidence enough of that.

 

Of course Dean wasn’t there when they arrived. It was 5.35am - there was _no-one_ there. The steward glared at them for being late, but had no real ground to scold them considering there weren’t exactly throngs of people desperately awaiting their presence.

Passengers started to dwindle in around 6, by which point Castiel was thoroughly unimpressed by the balancing tricks Gabriel was trying to show him which, for Castiel actually meant a lot of catching glasses and hissing at his colleague. When the real rush picked up at 7, Castiel began to wonder if Dean would even turn up. _What if he doesn’t eat breakfast?_ There were plenty of people who didn’t. Castiel himself wasn’t a huge fan of food in the morning - the smell of it made him feel slightly ill. It was a relief that orders were long and complicated and the seeming entirety of First Class had turned up with hearty appetites and gentle conversation. It kept his mind reasonably busy, but expectation was constantly ticking at the back of it.

Which was why a tiny bomb exploded in the back of his head when Dean walked in, all pressed and clean, hair smooth and expression completely neutral. Castiel became instantly aware of his own appearance. He hadn’t even glanced in a mirror this morning. His hair was probably everywhere.

Dean had arrived right at the last minute, Castiel noted by the clock on the wall. Breakfast would be closing soon in order for lunch to be set. Perhaps he was not a morning person. The idea slightly intrigued Castiel. With the exception of that particular day, he usually woke early, prepared for anything, He loved the early morning, when the world was a sleepy quiet and the sun _just_ dangled over the trees and the air was crisp with fresh beginnings. That was his favourite time of day, along with the deep of the night when the stars shone unabashed because there were so few people there to watch them and Castiel felt like they were arranged just for him to enjoy.

 

Keeping a casual eye on Dean, he set a plate down with an easy smile in front of an elderly couple and swept back into the kitchen with their empty glasses, so did not see where Dean sat until he returned. He carved a path straight to him, face formed into an expression he hoped aired nonchalance, pen at the ready.

“Morning sir,” he said, smiling as he arrived. Dean was looking at the menu again, marginally more at ease than yesterday.

Dean leaned back casually in his chair, and shot Castiel the most beautiful smile, all teeth and lips and sparkling eyes.

“Good morning, indeed,” Dean agreed and his tongue poked out and licked his lips.

“It’s almost afternoon, sir,” Castiel teased and didn’t take his eyes from Dean’s smile.

“I slept very well last night,” Dean replied, maintaining his position.

“Recovered from your traumatising ordeal, then?” Castiel asked and winked. Dean’s smile faltered slightly and he almost looked embarrassed. Good. Castiel didn’t want him to get _too_ comfortable.

“Just about. No thanks to you,” Dean said.

“Not what you said last night,” Castiel said indignantly. He’d thought Dean had enjoyed it as much as he did. Well, enjoyed wasn’t the right word. Perhaps he’d overstepped a line…

“I had just suffered a harrowing event. I was completely delusional,” Dean replied smartly. Castiel raised an eyebrow at his tone, not understanding for a moment.

His worrying lasted until Dean broke into gentle laughter and Castiel couldn’t help but join him.

“Had you going there, didn’t I? Thought I was mad at ya…” he was grinning and Castiel decided it shouldn’t be allowed to look that lovely when one was being antagonistic.

“You wanna eat something or not, wise guy?” he said, feigning irritation.

“Hell yeah,” Dean replied, eyes delaying on Castiel’s slightly before they looked at the menu, scanning it only briefly. “Full English I think,” and turned his head back upwards.

“Coming right up,” Castiel announced with a flourish of his pen.

 

~~~~~

The breakfast slot technically finished before Dean had finished eating, but Castiel could not begrudge the man an extra few minutes. He was left with instructions from the steward to clean up as soon as ‘the man in the corner’ was done. Supposedly it wasn’t good manners to start tidying while customers were still breakfasting. Gabriel had then asked _very_ politely if Castiel _wouldn’t mind_ just, you know, finishing up if he went somewhere. He’d make it up to him _as soon as possible._ Castiel had, naturally, kicked up a mock-fuss at being left alone with a room full of work, but he was actually pretty glad Gabriel was going. He was a complete liability and had already broken about $20 worth of tableware and was far too nosy about Castiel’s personal life for his own good.

Besides, it meant he could be alone with Dean again.

Tucking his towel and notebook into his pocket, he walked over to talk to Dean, or at least gauge if Dean was the sort of man who minded being disturbed while eating.

He slid into the chair opposite the semi-eaten full English with a “Hello, Dean.”

The man started slightly and looked up, having not noticed Castiel’s approach. All Castiel could take from that was that Dean was quite into his food.

“Hey, Castiel,” he said, lowering his fork. “What are you…shouldn’t you be?” he began but trailed off as Castiel watched him turn his head to look around the room.

“Ah,” he let out a huff and returned his head back to face Castiel, who smiled.

“Shift’s over,” he supplied helpfully.

“Oh god, sorry. Should I go?” Dean said, fussing with his cutlery. Castiel wanted to rest a hand reassuringly on Dean’s but instead folded them under the table.

“No, no,” Castiel said, unable to keep the smile from his face. He found constant but clumsy politeness rather refreshing.

“I’ll be quick,” Dean promised, taking up his knife and fork again.

“No need,” Castiel said, leaning back in the chair, which was just as comfortable as he thought they’d looked. The ones in the staff canteen weren’t exactly luxurious _._ The air between them was slightly stifled for a moment as Dean hesitated before eating and Castiel couldn’t find the courtesy within himself to stop looking at Dean.

 

The silence lingered for a little longer than was comfortable before Dean finished and put his knife and fork down on his plate again and leaned back, mirroring Castiel’s stance and crossing his arms and returned his stare.

“So tell me, Cas,” Dean began and Castiel raised an eyebrow. “What was last night all about?”

“What do you mean?” Castiel asked, pushed off-guard by Dean’s bluntness.

“Well, is it in your job description or whatever to try and provide moral support for your passengers?” Dean said, face completely unreadable.

Castiel paused a moment, trying to decipher if Dean was angry.

“I was…,” Castiel paused again. What had he been doing?

_I wanted to get to know you…_

Dean didn’t wait for his lame explanation, but launched into a short tirade; “Cause you got a funny way of making friends, Cas, giving them an astrology lesson then almost pushing them off the bow of a boat.”

“Astronomy,” Castiel corrected automatically, reeling slightly. “And you learned something didn’t you?” he tried to defend himself.

“What? The name of that bloke in the sky?”

Castiel couldn’t help but laugh but Dean was still staring at him and it arrested quickly. “No, I mean that you needn’t be scared of things, Dean.”

Dean didn’t say anything, but leant forwards again, elbows on the table and head resting on his hands, still staring.

“And no,” Castiel continued. “We’re not supposed to really talk to passengers.”

“Then why?” Dean asked, voiced raised slightly. “Why were you trying to learn my life story last night? Why were you _holding my hand_? And why are you sitting here now talking to me? I’m just trying to understand _why_?”

“W-what?” Castiel stuttered. He hadn’t been prepared for this interrogation and he had no answers to give that didn’t sound absurd. Apparently when confronted with Dean he lost the keen logic that usually dictated his life.

“Why me?” Dean prompted. “You think I looked like a lost puppy that needed help?” His voice was louder than it had been earlier, but he still didn’t seem _angry…_

“Because I like you,” Castiel said finally. It sounded ridiculous to say out loud, but it was the only truth he could find that made sense to him.

It evidently hadn’t been what Dean was expecting because his face flickered slightly into an unreadable expression before returning to its careful neutrality. He leaned back and Castiel figured he must have said something wrong.

“I didn’t mean it like that…It’s just you were sitting here alone and you…” he began to babble aimlessly. “I just wanted to get to know you. You seemed interesting.”  
“I’m not…” Dean faltered. “I’m not interesting.”

Castiel leant forwards across the table, shaking his head. “Yes, you are,” he began. “I don’t even know why, you just are. To me anyway.”

Dean just looked incredulous.

“I don’t understand.”

“Neither do I,” Castiel admitted, honestly. “Just the way you don’t want to settle for the boring life. The way you want more. I admire that.” Castiel titled his head upwards and closed his eyes, just so he could think without being interrupted by piercing green eyes. “I share it.”

Dean didn’t reply but Castiel didn’t open his eyes either.

Finally, Dean’s voice floated over, much quieter than before.

“So you weren’t…messing around because you thought it would be a laugh?”

Castiel’s eyes snapped open. “You thought I was _teasing_ you?” he asked incredulously.

“Yeah...” Dean said, looking slightly sheepish and breaking eye contact. “I mean not at the time. But I couldn’t stop thinking last night and you were just so…” he trailed off.

“So?” Castiel asked.

“I don’t know,” Dean rubbed a hand quickly over his face. “Smart and knowledgeable. Like you were so wise and I was just some seasick moron and you felt sorry for me or something.”

“Dean,” Castiel laughed, somewhat with relief. “I’m not superhuman. I’m just an idiot who’s too curious for his own good.”

Dean returned the grin, seemingly reassured by Castiel’s sincerity. At least, Castiel hoped he was. He felt like he wasn’t conveying the seriousness of his words properly, but he didn’t know how to tell Dean that Castiel felt more for Dean in just a day he probably should without sounding like an infatuated child.

“So not making fun then?” Dean confirmed.

“No,” Castiel shook his head and leant back again.

Dean was still smiling but was looking to his left and still avoiding eye contact.

“I did sound stupid last night though, didn’t I,” he said, laughing a little.

“How do you mean?” said Castiel, running through the evening in his mind.

“ _I’m flying,”_ Dean mimicked himself in an over exaggerated girlish voice. Castiel laughed so hard he almost doubled over and it took a slight pause before Dean was joining in as well.

They laughed for longer than was probably warranted before Castiel remembered that he didn’t have the eternity he wished he did and needed to clean this place up before lunch.

“Have you finished?” he asked, wiping his eyes and gesturing to Dean’s plate.  
“What?” Dean said, bringing his own breathing under control. He looked at Castiel’s hand. “Oh, yeah, sorry,” he said.

“Do you want me to…uh, help?” he asked as Castiel stood, still smiling.  
“No,” Castiel said, quicker than he’d intended. “I mean that’s not really appropriate…” he tried to explain. Dean nodded understandingly.

“I’ll, uh, see you later?” he said, the lilt at the end making it a question,

“I hope so,” Castiel replied reassuringly and smiled. He meant that honestly. Dean nodded again.

“Right,” he said, glancing towards the door. “Well, good-bye then.”

Castiel nodded again, but Dean stood awkwardly for a moment as if there was something he wanted to say. Castiel would have waited for as long as it took to hear it, if he didn’t need his paycheck at the end of the week.

“Goodbye Dean,” he finalised, picking up the plates.

“Right, yeah,” Dean muttered a little and gave a last smile before walking towards the door.

As Castiel stood with the dishes and watched the man recede he wished he had some experience with this. He had to be doing something wrong. Nothing on this earth should have the right to make Castiel’s heart feel as light as it did when he looked at Dean.

 

**~~~~~~~~~~**

Dean subconsciously expected Castiel to be at lunch, but he wasn’t. Instead Dean was attended by a smaller man who looked completely unsatisfied to be there and got his order wrong. Dean sort of missed Castiel, but not only because he delivered orders correctly. After lunch he’d left he’d taken the opportunity to explore the delights of the ship. There were libraries, modestly stocked with uninviting tomes and modern fiction, none of which interested Dean. The smoking rooms were unappealing and filled with people gambling their fortunes over shiny oak tables and puffing endless supplies of cigars. He’d been astounded when he saw a sign to a swimming pool and spent a moment watching the swimmers run lengths and contemplating the absurdity of carrying a tank of water across the sea. 

Later, Dean wondered out on the deck. The daylight had turned the area into a completely different picture than the one he had experienced last night. Men and women were promenading the decks, relaxing in the provided chairs and gazing with their own thoughts across the vast ocean while children ran and played in the sunlight. They reminded Dean of when he and Sam were young and they would play, free from responsibility and unaware of danger. Now Dean could see it all around the children; gaps in the railings and metal structures and ropes fawning across the deck that they could trip over. Their parents seemed unconcerned and so Dean, too, did not trouble himself with thoughts of their peril and instead wandered over to the side of the boat and considered what he would have made of all this when he was younger. It would have been a great adventure for him and Sam.

The sea air was biting, but soothed by the persistent glare of the sun, which Dean positioned behind him, and it caused every water droplet to sparkle as they were washed across the ocean. Dean could appreciate now, in the light, what Castiel had said yesterday. The sea was beautiful. It reminded Dean too much of Castiel’s eyes though, with their blue so defiant that it hurt to look. The wind was calmer out here on the open sea and he didn’t have to shield himself from it, but closed his eyes anyway. The imprint of the water and the sun remained behind his eyes, a tiny light display trying to get his attention as his mind wandered.

He thought about Castiel, as if he had any other choice after their discussion this morning.

Last night had been…odd. It wasn’t until after he had undressed, fallen into bed and closed his eyes that his mind started to analyse the events. All he had managed to conclude was that Castiel was either making fun of him or showing Dean a great deal of kindness in his own, special way. The more he had thought, the more he had worried that the former was true. Castiel must have already thought him ridiculous from his inability to maintain his head at dinner, and Dean had lain himself open to ridicule by admitting his fear. He was overanalysing but sleep had not relieved him of his thoughts for many hours.

He was glad he had been wrong.

He still had absolutely no idea what was happening. Dean would like to believe that he’d made a friend, a feat in such a short time, but the last time Dean had checked, friends didn’t hold your waist and whisper ‘ _I’ve got you,_ ’ in your ear. Then again he didn’t have many real friends so perhaps it was some new thing.

Either way, Castiel didn’t know he wasn’t into women. No-one knew that. Not even Dean acknowledged it until a couple of years ago. And he’d certainly never acted on it. But Cas…

Dean’s eyes snapped open and glanced around quickly, in case thinking those thoughts sent out a flare, informing everyone on deck that there was something wrong with him. Thankfully, no one was taking the slight bit of notice of the man standing alone on the edge, too absorbed in their own reading materials and thoughts.

Reassured, Dean turned back and looked out across the sea. Breathing in deeply, he decided to stop from hiding himself. Perhaps Castiel was gay, perhaps he wasn’t. That didn’t matter so much right now. Dean needed something to help him survive the tedium of this voyage and he liked Castiel, and if his thoughts of friendship were occasionally interlaced with something unsavoury, what pain did that cause anyone?

So Dean closed his eyes, and inside his mind he could still see the sea. Only it was night-time again, and Castiel was there and he let his thoughts fly wherever they wanted.

 

 


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope the POV switches in this chapter are not too confusing!  
> Also, porn.

## Chapter Four

 

Dean had wandered down to dinner early, in the hopes of spending more time with Castiel, but he underestimated the mealtime traffic and they had no time to talk, with Castiel rushed off his feet.

As Dean put his coat on, Castiel had cleared his plate away and said, only for Dean to hear, “Want to reconvene at a better time?”

Dean nodded and agreed to come back after dinner was over. He hoped they could go out on the deck and look at the night again. Or something else. Anything really.

 

That was how Dean found himself peering cautiously through the door of the dining area, long after it had closed and he felt like he was doing something elicit when he entered. The majority of the overhead lamps had been clicked off, save for a couple that were inefficiently lighting the man cleaning tables and herding cutlery. It gave the room an eerie, tired glow, as if the furniture had seen enough activity for one day and it was time for it to sleep. The crimson of the walls and dark brown of the tables inked towards black, as if mystery was lurking in their midst and the whole panorama gave the impression that they shouldn’t be there.

“Hello?” Dean called still hovering in the doorway. Castiel was humming an indiscernible melody and didn’t hear him, so Dean drew closer and cleared his throat. Castiel jumped slightly and turned around, a small pile of plates in hand.

“Good evening, Dean,” he said quietly. “Good timing. Just a couple more tables and I’ll be finished.”

Dean nodded and Castiel turned back to the table, dishes still balanced in one hand and a cloth in the other and began to wipe the table top.

“You, uh, want some help?” Dean asked, feeling awkward merely standing and watching.

“No, no,” Castiel said brightly, still not facing Dean, leaning forward to reach the opposite side of the shining table. The long arc of his back was accentuated by the light, reflecting in his white shirt which almost came untucked. Dean looked away.

That won’t be necessary,” He continued, straightening up. He had a joyful edge to his voice that seemed overly optimistic for his current task. He didn’t resume his humming and Dean leaned awkwardly against a wall and waited. He didn’t know where to target his eyes, so he focussed them on Castiel’s hand and the repetitive, circular movements it made. They were concentrated and sweeping, like he had done this a thousand times before and he probably had, though perhaps not with an audience. In time, he moved onto the next table, stack of plates twice as high and about five times as unwieldy. Dean offered to help again but Castiel refused. When the final triumphant arch of the cloth had been wiped on the table, Castiel turned and announced to Dean he would be right back, minus the pile of dishes. Dean drew out a chair and waited, eyes amassing the details of the room, where the shadows fell around the edges and where the lights invaded and disturbed the calm and he felt he was intruding too.

 

Castiel returned, humming again. He approached, loosening his tie and top button and slipped seamlessly into the chair opposite Dean.

“How have you been?” Castiel asked quietly, as if he too sensed the peace of the room and didn’t want to disturb it.

“Fine,” Dean replied. “Yourself?”

Castiel nodded. “Busy.” he replied and his hand reached out to cradle a rose in the vase between them. He looked at it with veneration, stroking its light petals. Dean’s eyes were drawn to the movement and he imagined what it would feel like to have those delicate hands touch him and those mesmerizing eyes gaze at him with that kind of intensity.

“I was worried you wouldn’t turn up,” Castiel commented, still staring at the flower.

“Why wouldn’t I?” Dean said, surprised.

“I don’t know. You might forget. Or just decide not to.” Castiel released the rose and transferred his gaze to Dean, eyes still holding a hint of the previous reverence.

“How could I forget about you?” Dean said, realising it sounded stupid, though the sentiment ran through for more than just this one evening. “And I’m not gonna stand you up.” He smiled. “You’re forgetting I was raised to be a gentleman.”

Castiel smiled. “Still,” he said. “Was worried.” He seemed almost embarrassed by this admission and he dipped his eyes towards the table.  
“You sayin’ you don’t trust me?” Dean asked.

“No.” Castiel said slowly, eyebrows furrowing and his hands picking at each other. “But I don’t know you very well.” His eyes rose back towards Dean, intense and unblinking,

“I’m sure that can be fixed,” Dean suggested, countering Castiel’s stare with his own.

“Good,” Castiel said, visibly straightening. “Because I want to know more about you, Dean…?” he continued, ending with a question.

“Winchester.” he supplied.

Castiel nodded, as if he approved. Then he stretched his hand across the table towards Dean, and Dean took it. It was still cold but had a firm grip. “Novak. Castiel Novak,” he said.

“Nice to meet you, Mr. Novak,” Dean said.

“Call me Cas,” he replied enticingly and Dean grinned.

“So do you, uh, wanna go somewhere?” Dean asked. He hadn’t planned anything but he had a vague idea that they would go up on deck again and have a repeat of last night, but perhaps with less near death experiences.

“We could stay here,” Castiel suggested, leaning back, inflection like a question again, leaving the decision up to Dean. “No-one will come in and disturb us.”

Dean accepted his argument with no debate of his own. He found he wasn’t disappointed. The room was private and warm and Castiel was there and that was all he needed in that moment.

Castiel nodded as if it suited him too and looked down at his lap. Dean kept his eyes focussed on the man in front of him, with half of his face perfectly illuminated and the other doused in shade. Neither said anything for a moment, before Castiel began; “So, Dean. As I said, we don’t really know much about each other.”

Dean interrupted. “You seemed to when you were analysing me last night.”

Castiel waved away this comment. “That was the _obvious_ stuff. I’d like to know more.”

“That wasn’t _obvious,”_ Dean protested. “That was stuff _no one_ else knew about!”

Castiel shrugged. “Was obvious to me.”

Dean gave up protesting. Castiel knew him better in one meeting than some people he’d known for years and his request to know more seemed fair and Dean himself burned with curiosity about the man who had waltzed into his life and made such an impression.

“So where do we begin?” Castiel asked. “How do you condense a lifetime into one conversation…” he trailed off, staring at the flowers again.

Dean thought for a moment. “What do you do when you’re not waiting tables or stargazing?” he stabbed.

Castiel brightened a little and looked at Dean again, head tilted as if considering how to answer.

“I’ve always loved sailing and boats…obviously.” he began, “There’s something so fascinating about how something so large can be so graceful.” Dean considered this for a moment. He understood the notion; the way ships were like graceful ducks on the surface but were filled with toiling machinery beneath. He nodded.

“I read some. And I go out. You know, dancing and things. I’m terrible at it though. I’ve got two left feet.”

“What, like ballroom?” Dean asked. He could imagine Castiel’s graceful figure gliding through the steps of a waltz. He couldn’t believe Castiel was a bad dancer. He seemed so full of poise that it sounded laughable that he’d be unable to step out a rhythm.

Dean looked up from the knot in the wood which he was glazing with his finger to see Castiel laughing slightly. “No,” he said. “Nothing that requires any co-ordination.”

 “That’s great,” Dean said fervently. “I’ve always wanted to go dancing. That type of dancing, I mean. I’ve done crappy ballroom dancing. It’s a nightmare.”

“Well then, that settles it,” Castiel said, seeming triumphant.

“Settles what?” Dean replied, two steps behind Castiel’s thought process.

“I’m gonna take you dancing one day. Proper dancing, not that refined rubbish.”  Castiel’s eyes shifted slightly to the left, thinking. Dean grinned. Even if it was an empty promise made in the still of the moment, it was still a pleasant thought that Castiel might want to continue spending time with him.

“I’d like to take you up on that,” Dean replied, smiling enthusiastically.

Castiel broke out of his revere and snapped back to Dean, nodding a confirmation of his promise. “What about you?” he asked.

“Huh?” The conversation was spiking a little fast for Dean’s brain, which was still tangled up in Castiel’s profile and the gentle cadence of his voice.

“What do you do when you’re not eating or worrying about sailing?” Castiel mimicked, smiling and he looked genuinely interested, not the fake interest that business partners feigned when they asked about Dean’s family or affairs but more like he actually wanted to know. Dean looked down, unable to meet Castiel’s earnest gaze now that attention was focussed on him. “I like tinkering,” he said, unintentionally gruff. “Cars and that. I just like the mechanics of it.”

Castiel nodded. “I can respect that,” he replied, elbows on the table and hands clasped. “Could never get the hang of how an engine works.”

“Well, that settles it,” Dean replied, grinning.

“What?”

“One day I’m gonna show you the inside of a car.”

“Deal,” Castiel said and presented his hand. Dean took it and shook. Their hands dropped to the table, awkwardly close to touching but not quite. They met each other’s eyes and laughed, almost embarrassed. Dean realised with a jolt that he would probably not get the opportunity to guide Castiel round an engine while on board a boat. He’d unintentionally promised Castiel a future.

“Anything else?” Castiel probed. “Or just cars and business dinners?”

“Yeah. Sure.” Dean faltered. He wasn’t sure what to pick out from his vastly monochrome life to tell Castiel. “I read some too.”

“Oh, interesting,” Castiel said. He leaned back in his chair, arms folded. “I like a cultured man.”

Dean looked at the table, embarrassed. He wasn’t cultured at all, unless knowing the inner workings of the stock exchange worked counted.

“So what’s your literature of choice? Old classics? New trash?” Castiel prompted when Dean offered no further explanation.

“Classics sometimes,” Dean admitted. “I’m reading _The Odyssey_ right now, actually.”

“Can’t get much more classical than that,” Castiel says, mouth forming into an impressed tilt. “You liking it?”

“Sure,” Dean replied. “But I don’t _get_ Odysseus. He’s having all these great adventures but all he can do is cry about how he wants to go home. It makes no sense.”  
“Adventures on which his comrades are viciously killed?” Castiel said, laughing a little.

“Yeah, yeah. But you know what I mean,” Dean replied quietly. Castiel nodded, mouth dipping into a concentrated pout and his gaze poured onto Dean like he was analysing him again through his reaction to literature. Dean shouldn’t have said anything.

“I guess he has someone worth going home to,” Castiel said quietly, and brought his hands to his lap and twisted them thoughtlessly.

Dean nodded silently and fiddled with the table cloth.

When he spoke it was several decibels below his usual refrain. “Have you?”

Castiel looked up sharply into Dean’s eyes and he looked thrown. There was a moment’s pause where Dean wondered if he said the wrong thing, then Castiel replied;

“Not really….just brothers,” he didn’t quite sound sad, more wistful. “And they…I mean they love me. But I just don’t think they care too much.” Dean jerked his hand forward sympathetically but couldn’t reach the other man, so just let it fall again awkwardly.

“It was hard, growing up.” Castiel said, looking down at his hands. “My parents died…we were too young really to have to grow up without guidance. It was a war ground at times, my older brothers especially would fight constantly. But, hey, learnt how to fend for myself.” He sounded bitter. Dean wanted to comfort him but couldn’t find any words.  
“Then Anna, my sister that is, ran away which caused a bit of a rift. And I…well you can see for yourself. I’m here aren’t I? Hundreds of miles away from home…” he trailed off, no longer looking at Dean but stared at the plants in between them again.

“You’re running away,” Dean said, quietly understanding.

“I didn’t really mean to. It just sort of…happened.”

Dean leaned properly across the table, enough to give Castiel an awkward pat on the shoulder. His hand lingered there and Castiel looked up in surprise, eyes wide and honest and smiled sadly.

“I don’t usually talk about it,” he said. “I’m sorry…I don’t know why…to you,” he trailed off and Dean gave a last squeeze before removing his hand. Dean understood. It was the same reason he wanted to open up to Castiel and tell him everything, because he trusted the man to with his secrets.

“What about you?” Castiel said abruptly, shaking off his musings and his expression changed to interest again. “You aren’t running away; you’re going home. But you don’t seem too happy about it.”

Dean sighed.

“Just my younger brother and my dad. We’re all…very close,” Dean began quietly. “But, like you, we argue. Sometimes it gets real bad. Sam and Dad especially, though they seem to have made peace now he’s older.” Castiel nodded sympathetically and Dean leaned back, looking across the room. His eyes were adjusted now and he could see into all the shadowy corners.

“Now Sam’s gone away to college and Dad’s proud of that. But that leaves me to, you know, take over.”

“Take over what?” Castiel asked gently.

“Family business. Dad’s a self-made man and he worked damn hard for everything we have. Now it’s my turn to support my family,” he said, unable to keep the resentment from his voice.

There was a pause.

“And you don’t want to.” Castiel said simply. Hearing Castiel simply lay out something Dean had never admitted to himself struck a chord in him.

“I hate it,” he said, too loud after the gentle quiet of their conversation but he had been given an outlet for the first time in Castiel, someone to listen and not judge. “I hate bonds, I hate stock and shares. I hate money and numbers and counting and calculating interest rates. I hate the stuffy people we have to pretend to be interested in and everyone’s obsession with money. I hate how my dad spends his life lying about who he is and I hate the fact that I’m going to have to do that too! I don’t _belong_ here,” he gestured widely to the lavish decoration of the first class dining room, and it remained stoic, taunting him. “I just want to get out,” he finished quietly.

Castiel had sat in silence through his whole tirade, and continued to as Dean came down, recaptured his breath and took a look around to double check they were still alone and no-one had heard.

“Sorry. Sorry,” he said. “I shouldn’t have exploded like that. I never do that. Sorry.”

“It’s alright, Dean,” Castiel said and looked up, a strange expression on your face.

“No. No it’s not,” he wasn’t sure if he meant the fact he’d vented to an almost stranger or just unabashedly slandered his family. He would never intentionally disrespect his father. He meant more to Dean than anyone beside Sam, but it was just so _hard._

Except that Castiel wasn’t really a stranger and sometimes his father felt like one. A presence that had kept Dean in line his whole life, moulding him to be like himself. Dean didn’t even know who his father was anymore; the business presence with the head for numbers and high-class friends, or the man who sometimes slumped in drunk, late at night and couldn’t look at his children because they reminded him too much of his deceased wife…

 

Dean looked back up at Castiel’s face, which was much closer than he remembered it being. The man was leaning across the table, earnestly, a smile on his face. He took Dean’s hand in his own and pulled him a little closer so their faces were just a few inches apart. Dean’s breath hitched. He could see every detail in Castiel’s face and each pigment in his irises and it made his heart stutter.

“I think you should tell him,” Castiel said, face open and honest.

“Tell who what?” Dean asked, unable to process what he was saying over the loud calling from Castiel’s enticing gaze.

“Your father,” he said, earnestly. “Tell him you don’t want to take over the business. Tell him you want to be your own man.”

Dean withdrew his hand and looked away.

“I can’t,” he said. “I can’t do that to him.”

 

~

 

“Why?” Castiel said. He realised he was probably overstepping a line but he didn’t like the thought of Dean resigning to commit his existence to a lifestyle he didn’t want.

“Shut up, alright?” Dean said angrily, glaring back at Castiel. “You don’t get it.”

“You’re scared.” Castiel said, leaning back, arms folded. He could sense that easily enough from the way Dean talked about his father as if he were a superior officer that Dean obeyed unquestioningly.

He could tell by the way Dean squirmed that he’d hit the nail on the head.

“You don’t know nothing,” Dean retorted, flushing angry red.

Castiel sighed and leaned forwards again. He didn’t _want_ to do this. He didn’t want to upset Dean or criticise his father. He didn’t even know why he even was. He just wanted Dean to consider other options, to allow himself a choice.

“Look, Dean,” Castiel said, quiet again. “Look at me.”

Dean dragged his eyes towards Castiel’s and they stared at each other for a moment.

“You don’t have to listen to me,” Castiel began. “I know I’m just a poor waiter with no worldly experience,” Dean made a noise as if to protest but Castiel shook his head. “But I know one or two things about family.” Dean closed his eyes, and leaned his forehead on his hand, staring unseeingly down at the table. He looked so tired and Castiel’s heart wanted to reach out and help.

He took Dean’s gesture as leave to continue; “You have to be your own person, Dean. You have your future ahead of you.” Castiel wasn’t sure where he was going with his thoughts “I’m not gonna sit here and preach about destiny or any of that shit, but if this isn’t what you want, you’ll look back in the future and regret it.”

Dean didn’t say anything, just buried his face further into his hands.

“I’m sure your father will forgive you.”

Dean rubbed his eyes and Castiel reached out his hand to rest it on the back of Dean’s head, stroking the short, soft hairs a little and he felt Dean lean back into it and he removed his hands from his eyes. His expression had gone soft.

“You’re right,” he said, almost a whisper. “And I know you’re right…but it’s hard, Cas. It’s hard. I can’t let him down like that.”

“I know.” Castiel said, removing his hand from Dean’s head, brushing against his jaw and resting it on Dean’s hand which had fallen to the table. “But I also know you can do the right thing.”

“Cas…” Dean began and the word hung there. He seemed unable to continue, unable to voice what he wanted. Castiel could hazard a guess at what he wanted to say. Thank-you, probably. Maybe even sorry. Phrases that were usually empty and thrown around like salt grains, but the way Dean’s eyes were looking at him told Castiel he was sincere.

“Shall we get out of here?” He said quietly. Dean was clearly feeling uncomfortable and a change of scenery might help remove their conversation from the stifled awkwardness.

“Yeah,” Dean said quietly, then seemed to snap out of his daze, “God, sorry, I didn’t notice the time…I didn’t mean to keep you,” he said.

 

~

 

“Dean, shut up. I want to be here,” Castiel said and smiled. Dean smiled too, pleased for the distraction and the pair rose from their seats, hands sliding seamlessly away from each other. Castiel moved to the other side of the table and faced Dean again, reclaiming his hand.  
“I mean it, Dean,” he said earnestly and Dean wanted to look away, unnerved by the honesty in his eyes. “You deserve happiness.”

“You don’t know that,” Dean choked out in surprise. No-one had ever said that to him before. “I could be a terrible person.”

“But I know you’re not,” Castiel replied, too close. Castiel’s breath tingled Dean’s face and the low tone to his voice should be illegal, locked away in the pool of sin that were his eyes. Castiel had a type of intensity that made Dean feel uncomfortable _everywhere,_ as if Castiel’s ambience was touching Dean where no-one else had ever charted.

The soft lights of the room were too romantic, the words Castiel was saying too raw and his eyes too penetrating…They’d been staring at each other too long, and the space between their faces was filling with charge, waiting for a spark, breath hanging in the air like a metronome, waiting…

“Cas…please don’t take offense to this but…are you? You know…” Dean’s voice came out low and rough, snared in his throat as he waved his hand pointlessly, expecting the gesture to say the words he couldn’t. Castiel was so close to him he could feel the heat exuding from his body, the warmth of his breath and the sparks of his eyes almost tactile.

“Are you asking me if I’m gay?” Castiel said, voice steady but the hand on Dean’s clenched.

“Yeah,” Dean murmured. He couldn’t focus his eyes on Castiel anymore, his proximity too overwhelming, so he closed them, only able to perceive Castiel by the warm breath that fused with his own. _Too much…too close…_

“Does this answer your question?” Castiel whispered. Dean’s barely had time to process the words before Castiel leaned in and pecked him gently on the lips. He lingered there for barely a beat before pulling away again. Dean instinctively followed him forwards a little, lips parted, his mind reeling. The spark had irrevocably arrived to ignite the atmosphere, and the lights behind Dean’s eyes were screaming in celebration. It was real. He wasn’t imagining the tension between them, the way Castiel looked at him. His eyes opened, too slowly and focussed back on the man in front of him, who was closer than he’d expected and staring straight into him. Dean turned his head slightly, victorious but wary.

“I never said _I_ was,” he whispered, and looking over Castiel’s shoulder.

Castiel leaned in close and Dean’s heart dropped and hammered out a danger signal as he felt the other man’s breath skate against his ear.

“No. But the way you’ve been looking at me did.” Dean blushed hotly, unable to think about anything but the feel of Castiel’s breath licking the shell of his ear.

“Don’t worry,” Castiel’s voice murmured, dark and laced with suggestion, “ _I’ve been looking too.”_ Dean’s stomach twisted, his elation mused by the lust that was threading thickly around him.

“Coulda just said yes,” he said almost wistfully, still not turning towards Castiel.

“But this is more fun,” Castiel whispered and a shiver rode down Dean’s spine through to his extremes and his breath hitched. He couldn’t move. Then he felt a hot, wet strip licking down his ear and he let out a sigh that was almost a moan and his entire body melted and he snapped.

He whipped his head round and reached one hand to grasp Castiel’s lower back and the other rose to cup his neck in one fluid motion that took Cas by surprise, judging by the low ‘unf’ he let out and Dean kissed Castiel with all the passion he possessed **.** It was hot, it was wet and he kissed Castiel like air was something they no longer needed. His kissed him like a thousand charged explosions detonated in the deep press of their mouths and moaned when Castiel’s tongue entwined around his and he relaxed into the sensation, wrapping his arm tighter around Castiel’s waist as Castiel stroked his sides and he moaned softly again. He was drowning, he was flying, he was falling…

He was panting for air as Castiel pulled away slightly, their foreheads resting together.

“Fuck,” Castiel gasped. “What the hell was that?”

“Wanted to do that…so bad…yesterday…outside,” Dean panted.

“I know. Me too,” Castiel nodded, their foreheads not breaking contact. “Would have been so easy to just turn you round…” he kissed Dean again, close mouthed and gentle. Dean’s eyes flickered shut and let their lips linger together.

“Where do we go from here?” he asked, quietly, some of the sound captured in Castiel’s mouth.

“I don’t want to push you into anything,” Castiel murmured against his mouth and Dean opened his eyes to meet Castiel’s. He drew back slightly.

“Well maybe I _want_ you to push me _,_ ” he said impulsively.

 

 

 

The only pause between the words leaving Dean’s mouth and Castiel’s actions was the moment it took for his brain to catch up. He turned Dean around by the waist and pressed him against the back wall, crowding close and pressing his chest to Dean’s. It went a lot smoother than he expected.

“Fuck,” Dean said, leaning his head back against the wall and exposing the expanse of his neck, masked only by the shadows and swallowed. “That wasn’t very gentlemanly,” he panted. Castiel smiled.

He leaned down and breathed hotly against Dean’s neck. The skin was so smooth and even…it would look beautiful flushed with arousal, tainted by marks… Castiel settled for kissing it, his mouth open and smacking obscenely.

“Well,” he murmured darkly, “Whoever said I was a gentleman?” He might be enjoying this just a little too much, the feel of Dean’s body hard under his own, keening into him like Castiel held the key to the universe. He grinned at Dean’s groan above him.

 “You knew didn’t you?” Dean panted, as Castiel mouthed erratic kisses down his throat.

“What?” said Castiel, his breath hitching a little as he nibbled a tender bit of skin below Dean’s ear, causing the other man to tighten his grip around Castiel’s hip. “That you wanted me to sweep you into my arms and kiss you senseless?” Dean moaned again and Castiel moved his head up to face him. Dean’s eyes flickered shut and a gentle flush had bloomed, head thrown back and he was the world’s most beautiful poem come to life in Castiel’s arms.

Dean opened his eyes and leaned their foreheads together. “Was I really that obvious?” He said thickly against Castiel’s mouth.

“Call it,” Castiel began, cut off by a moan that Dean drew from him as he curled a warm hand under Castiel’s shirt to dance spirals on his lower back. “Call it instinct,” he breathed. “Or maybe it was the way you blush whenever I touchedyou.” The end of his sentence was dissolved with into Dean’s sigh as Castiel started to nibble affections on his ear lobe. Everything Dean did served to make Castiel hotter and want to push in ever closer. Dean moved his head to the side and recaptured Castiel’s mouth and they kissed again, slower this time, but open mouthed and dirty, the result pooling hotly in Castiel’s stomach and Dean raised his hand to cup his cheek and they eventually drew away, breathing heavy and expectation ripe in the air.

“In regards to your earlier question,” Castiel said, hands wandering up Dean’s side and into his hair, “where do we go from here?”

 

 

 

“My room?” Dean suggested, gruffly. He didn’t fucking care right now. He was too far gone to think about anything but the way Castiel seemed to know _just_ what he wanted and his entire body

Dean was running on the evocative shivers that Castiel’s mouth was triggering and he would have asked Castiel if his suggestion was acceptable had Castiel not kissed him again, pulling him from the wall, his hands firm around Dean’s arms. They broke apart when Castiel grabbed Dean’s hand and led him towards the door. The lights outside the dining area were too bright, removed them from the lustful dusk of the dining room and Dean stopped and pulled Castiel by the arm towards him and forced eye contact.

“What’s happening here, Cas?” he asked, in response the quizzical look Castiel shot him.

“I don’t know,” Castiel admitted, his face still retaining the gentle flush that was too pretty to allow rational conversations to happen.

“I don’t want this to be just to be some one night thing,” Dean confessed. “If that’s all I am to you, just some little game and cheap fun, then you can leave me right now.” He didn’t mean to sound so defensive but for reasons unknown, the thought of Castiel forgetting about him after tonight ruptured his heart a little.

“Dean,” Castiel said, sounding surprised and cocking his head, “That is _not_ what this is. I _like_ you.” He laughed “One night is _not_ enough, I assure you.” He looked so sincere Dean felt he’d never believed anything so much in his life. He winked at Dean. The flutter of his eyelashes went straight to the dirty parts of Dean’s mind.

Dean nodded. A moment passed in silence then he allowed Castiel to lead towards the staircase, both keeping and active but unmentioned watch for other people.

 

“I don’t actually know where we’re going,” Castiel reminded him as they reached it. Dean apologised and stepped ahead of him, to show him in the direction of his room. The journey was a strange one - expectation hugged them like a cloud, but they maintained a careful distance in for people were still wondering the halls after dark. The forced distance between them and lack of contact only made Dean’s heart burn harder and the corridor was tauntingly long, what with Castiel and the heat of his skin barely an arm’s length away…

 

The moment they stepped inside Dean’s door and it closed, Dean found himself pushed against it, Castiel’s lips on his, hot and insistent as his tongue licked into his mouth. With the veil of privacy enclosing them, they became more eager, Castiel’s hands winding around Dean’s neck and Dean’s clutching hard at Castiel’s waist, bringing him closer.

“You’re fucking gorgeous,” Castiel panted against his mouth when they finally parted for breath.

Dean cupped the back of his head and their eyes met.

“There’s a bed over there, you know,” he murmured, eyebrows indicating behind them. Castiel appeared to ignore him, instead leaning his eyes down to un-do Dean’s shirt buttons.

“Nope?” Dean said, breath puffing at Castiel’s cold fingers gliding down his chest. “We’re doing this here then,” he concluded as Castiel’s fingers wandered lower, un-tucking his shirt from his pants. He arched in closer as Castiel threaded his arms under the shirt and pulled him in, mouths meeting again. Dean shrugged off the article and after a moment’s hesitation began on the fastenings of Castiel’s. Castiel broke away from Dean’s mouth and whipped off his tie and helped with the buttons on his shirt until both were a mass on the floor.

Castiel’s body was tanned and lean under the shirt and Dean took a moment just to drink it in, imagining how it would feel to have his arms wrapped around that angular torso, before he remembered he didn’t have to imagine and he pulled Castiel towards him again, the planes of their skin moulding together, warm and delicious.

He felt like there was something he needed to tell Castiel, but couldn’t quite reach it when the smaller man started kissing along his jaw, delicate presses that put all his senses on high alert. He grabbed Castiel’s shoulders and forced them to separate for a moment.

“Cas,” he panted, surprised by how cracked his voice was, “I…I ain’t never…done anything with a man before.”

Castiel gave him a look that suggested Dean had said the most obvious thing in the world.

“I have with women, though!” he protested against accusations Castiel had not made, not wanting Castiel to get the wrong idea. He clearly already thought of Dean as a blushing virgin.

“It’s a good thing I have then, isn’t it?” Castiel murmured and trailed a finger down Dean’s throat, making him shudder. Castiel leaned in close to his ear and breathed; “Don’t worry, I’ll take care of you.”

“I don’t need takin’ care of,” Dean objected, but his indignance was half hearted and shortlived as he slowly turned to mush as Castiel licked at his ear lobe and teased his chest with his long fingers.

“No,” Castiel muttered, the syllable drawn out, as if he was thinking, “ _But you want me to,”_ he whispered and Dean moaned despite himself.

At that, Castiel moved his mouth back to Dean’s and kissed him with a ferocity that had him pinned against the wall, too much strength seemingly packed into the sailor’s body, hands roaming across Dean’s back. Dean’s moan slipped into Castiel’s mouth, cradling the smaller man’s head to bring him closer, the kiss deepening as their lips slid against each other and Castiel’s tongue felt so warm in his mouth, insistent but unobtrusive as it licked across his teeth, bringing a moan out of Dean, the likes of which he hadn’t heard before. Castiel parted them again, biting down on Dean’s lower lip as he withdrew.

 “Cas,” Dean gasped. “Please…” he was begging, but he didn’t even know what for. Just _more,_ to feed the fire that was burning in his abdomen, kindled by every touch Castiel was giving him and every little gasp the other man made.Castiel hummed, inviting Dean to finish his sentence.

"I want..." He said into Castiel’s mouth. 

"What do you want Dean?” He whispered.

“I don't know,” he groaned. “Anything.”

“Something like this perhaps?” Castiel said and pressed their hips together and rolled his down slowly into Dean’s. Dean gasped and grabbed at Castiel's shoulders, the burning ache in his groin that had been periphery ‘til then was thrust to the forefront of his mind. The hard outline of Castiel's cock against his own was like nothing he had felt before and as he groaned unabashed into Castiel’s mouth which was making tiny breathy noises. He wrapped his arms around the man to revel in the tiny volts of lightning erupting across his chest where they touched.

“Wanna move this somewhere more comfortable?” He said through a moan and motioned his head somewhere behind them. Castiel gave a final bite on the muscle of Dean’s neck and detached himself, loosening his octopus limbs and nodded. Not letting each other go, they stumbled over to the couch, Dean’s leg scraping the coffee table and collapsed on the cushions, Castiel on top of Dean and he squirmed between his legs and reattached their mouths in a searing kiss that left Dean panting for breath and his mouth begging for more. His hands roamed along Castiel's back, casuing the man to arch into him, their hips pressing together, before finally settling on this curve of his ass, soft beneath his wandering hands. Castiel moaned in approval and the buck of his hips downwards encouraged Dean to press down further and he gently squeezed, drawing out delicious noises from the man who was fidgeting on top of him. He abandoned Dean’s mouth to his dismay. It didn’t last long for he began to kiss and suck his way down Dean’s neck, then stroked his mouth along his collarbone and licked a strong, wet line down his torso before stopping at the waistband of his pants. 

Dean’s flustered hands had lost their vantage point and he placed them gently on Castiel shoulders. 

“You don't have to do anything,” he panted. 

“What if I want to?” Castiel breathed hotly against Dean’s crotch, heat searing through the fabric and he groaned. 

“Fuck. Fuck. Please yes,” he garbled and Castel dipped his head down and gently undid the buttons. Dean hissed when his cock hit the cold air and Castiel gave an encouraging hum. Castiel wrapped his hand around it, the edge of Dean’s blunt pressure dimming and leaving only pleasure in its place as Castiel began to slowly stroke him. Dean ran his hands over his face. Castiel's hands were so definitely masculine and curled round his length perfectly. The man’s tongue poked out to lick the head of Dean’s cock and he moaned out a noise that may have been Castiel's name. In reply Castiel took Dean further into his mouth keeping his hand at the base and drew out a glorious tingle of pleasure that spread through Dean’s entire body. He clenched and unclenched his hands which were hovering uncertainly and planted them gently on Castiel’s shoulders once more. Castiel hummed around his cock and Dean focused in on the vibration threatening to undo him. Castiel seemed able to find all his ticks and he ran his tongue gently along the underside as he went and twirled it around the head every time setting a pace that was rapidly firing Dean towards the end. Dean garbled out a stream of affections which may have included a helping of blasphemy along with Castiel’s name but he wasn't listening, focusing only on Castiel's mouth which was so warm and wet and male and pliant. Too soon Dean felt the familiar tightening in his groin as pleasure pooled warmly in his stomach. 

“I'm close,” he warned and Castiel half nodded around his length and sped up, drawing a new string of noise from Dean. Castiel's head bobbled up and down and Dean couldn't stop staring, eventually stroking a hand tentatively in the man’s soft hair as he reached the threshold where the pleasure was so good it was almost pain and Castiel hummed in approval. 

“ _Really_ close,” he murmured and Castiel pumped just that bit harder and Dean was sitting right on the edge, about to fall when Castiel's piercing eyes looked up at him, hooded with lust and Dean tumbled over, spilling loudly and hotly into Castiel's mouth and he groaned and covered his eyes as he rode the wave before coming down panting, Castiel worked him through it before popping his mouth off obscenely and leaving Dean’s dick slick with spit. 

“Fuck, he said. “Fuck, Cas that was amazing.” Castiel tucked him away then crawled back up, hovering his mouth near Dean’s as if asking for permission. Dean pushed forwards and Castiel's lips were soft beneath him and Dean’s tongue asked for its own permission and Castiel's mouth complied. They twirled together in Castiel’s mouth which was fringed by the taste of salt. Instead of being disgusted, Dean found it a fervent reminder of what had just happened and pulled the man in closer by the waist. He trailed his free hand down Castiel's front, feeling the tense muscles beneath his fingers and he too lingered at the barrier between his hand and what he most wanted. 

“You don't have to do anything you don't want to,” Castiel assured pausing their kiss for a moment. 

“I won't,” Dean assured. “I wouldn't be much if a gentleman if I left you hanging, would I?”

“Don't feel obliged,” Castiel whispered.

“I don't,” Dean breathed into Castiel's mouth and undid the buttons and pushed the pants and underwear down slightly. Castiel straightened up and made to shift off Dean but Dean surged with him, keeping their warm mouths attached and wrapping his arms tightly to keep Castiel in his lap. He bit Castiel’s lip and with a determined movement grasped his cock. Castiel let out a hiss and gripped Dean’s shoulder. Dean pulled back for a moment and looked down at his hand wrapped around Castiel. Feeling clumsy, he drew from his only source of experience - his sessions alone and re-enacted them upon Castiel's cock, gripping fairly tight and twisting at base, running a thumb over the head each time and along the bottom as he stroked. Castiel made delicious breathy noises into Dean’s mouth where he wanted to capture then and keep forever and his hands pawed at Dean’s shoulders and he kept his other arm around Castiel. Their skin was pressed so hot and tight together that Dean’s brain was fogging up and Castiel began to squirm so Dean sped up his stokes and elicited a beautiful groan which he wanted to hear again as soon as possible. Which a final wanton moan into Dean’s mouth Castiel warned him he was about to let go and Dean gave a final tug and felt Castiel's cock tense and a hot liquid spilled into his hand and he gave a couple more pumps before releasing as Castiel panted out little breathy mews. His head collapsed onto Dean’s shoulder and he breathed as he came down. Dean brought his hand up to his face and inspected the damage. With a curious tongue he licked at the white liquid. It didn't taste so bad, so he cleaned himself, Castiel's eyes turning to watch with a rapt attention as Dean’s tongue dabbed at his hand.

“Fuck,” Castiel said. “That was amazing.”

Dean brought their mouths together again and lay back down, pulling Castiel on top of him in a post orgasmic bliss, Castiel leaning into Deans shoulder and occasionally pressing little kisses into the sensitive skin that made him squirm.

“Thanks,” Dean said, not sure of the etiquette for this situation. Castiel huffed.

“My pleasure. Literally,” he said.

“That's the oldest joke in the book,” Dean said but laughed anyway. Castiel nuzzled in tighter but too soon he looked up at the clock and sighed.

“Do you need to go?” Dean asked and Castiel nodded. 

“People will notice if I'm late and they're nosy bastards,” Dean nodded. 

“Okay,” he said. He swallowed. “I wish you could stay.” 

“I would love to,” Castiel said, rubbing his nose like a cat against the dip in Dean’s collar bone. “Maybe next time.”

Dean perked up at that. 

“So I was good enough for a next time?” He asked waggling his eyebrows as Castiel pushed himself up and wiped his face. Dean ran reached up and ran a hand through his adorably mused hair and Castiel screwed up his nose. 

“You can have as many next times as you want,” he said smiling. “As long as you promise to keep making those delightful noises.”

“Deal,” Dean said laughing and zipped up his pants as Castiel stood and stretched his back.

“Good.”

Castiel scanned the floor for his discarded shirt. Dean stood up to join him and moved to the crumpled pile and held their two shirts in front of himself for a moment, trying to decipher who they belonged to it up, then held Castiel’s out to him. Castiel slid his arms in and Dean reached out to do up the buttons. Castiel smiled and Dean blushed, aware of the intimacy of the moment as he smoothed down the wrinkles in the new shirt.

“So I'll see you again tomorrow?” he asked as Castiel wrapped his tie around his neck. He messed up the collar in his haste and Dean adjusted it for him before taking a step back.

“I imagine so,” Castiel said winking and Dean enveloped him in a last kiss which was much sweeter than before, lust replaced by tenderness. He didn't want to let go and they stayed there intertwined for a long time. Eventually they broke away and Dean opened the door looking at it as though it was his worst enemy.

“Goodnight, Dean,” Castiel said and Dean hummed a goodbye in return. 

“See you tomorrow,” he said for confirmation and Castiel nodded. He closed the door with a click and flopped onto the bed, shoving off his pants and curled up in his underwear under the delicate sheets. He wasn’t sure quite what had just happened, but remained in the haze of bliss that told him his journey wasn't turning out to be so bad after all and Dean slept sweetly that night, far-fetched fantasies running through his mind. 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So yeah, fast build. But the entire fic only lasts 5 days, so I hope you can forgive me.


	5. Chapter 5

Dean shifted awake but didn’t open his eyes and instead rolled over, curling in on himself. He had almost slipped away again when he discovered what had woken him. Someone was knocking on the door. It took him a moment to process where he was, the thoughts of last night tangling with his sanity, but as the knocking persisted, he slid out of bed and searched semi-consciously for clothes. He pulled on a pair of pants before making his way to the door, blearily searching for the door knob and poking his head around.

“Room service!” came a cheery voice.

“I didn’t order…” Dean began, turning his eyes upwards to look at the proprietor. The synapses in his brain made the connection before they reached the man’s face and he trailed off.

“Mornin’” Castiel winked at him and Dean blinked, trying to understand what was happening.

“Sleep well?” He continued, smiling. Dean swallowed and nodded, images of the sinuous form that lay under Castiel’s neatly pressed clothes pushing into his mind.

“What are you doin’ here?” he said, straightening up but not opening the door fully, for fear of flashing innocent passers-by his torso.

“Room service!” he repeated brightly. Dean just shook his head. He wasn’t sure what was happening, but the man he’d had rigorously enjoyable sex with last night was standing at his door and he was fine to go with that.

“Can I come in?” Castiel asked, neck stretching to see behind the door. Dean nodded, and stepped back, pulling the door with him but remaining out of sight to the hall. Castiel swanned in and Dean shut the door behind him and put his hands on his hips. Castiel’s eyebrows rose slightly at his state of undress and a smile covered his face.

“Where’s the room service?” Dean asked stupidly, for Castiel had nothing in his hands.

“I _am_ the room service, you ass,” Castiel said strode towards Dean, wrapped and arm around his waist and pulled them together.

“Have I gotta tip you?” Dean asked, voice throaty with sleep and smiling despite himself.

“You can pay me in kind,” Castiel replied jovially and Dean had no choice but to lean in and wipe the smug smile from his face, arms curling around Castiel’s waist. His lips felt natural under Dean’s own, as if they’d done this a thousand times.

They broke apart and Castiel looked up and announced; “I really should go.”

“You just arrived,” Dean replied smile fading to a pout and his hand tightening around Castiel’s waist, keeping their lower bodies pressed together. Castiel leaned back, placing his hands against Dean’s chest.

“ _I’m_ supposed to be working,” he said in mock-disapproval.

“Then why are you here?” Dean said, leaning forward to capture Castiel’s mouth again, but couldn’t reach with Castiel’s hands pushing him.

“I wanted to see you,” Castiel admitted, placing a finger on Dean’s lips to stop him. “But I said I’d only be a few minutes so I don’t have time for – ah!” His sentence dissolved into a yelp as Dean caught him by surprise and wrapped him up in his arms again to bring their mouths together. He kissed Castiel slow and gentle, just a careful reminder of what he was missing by leaving him. When Dean drew back, Castiel’s eyes were closed and his face flushed with a contentment that probably mirrored his own.

“Right,” Castiel said. “Now I _really_ need to go,”

“Fine,” Dean muttered, unwinding his arms, but holding Castiel’s hand until the last second, when he opened the door and paused in the arch for a moment.

“I’ll see you later, won’t I?” Dean established and Castiel nodded.

“Of course,” Castiel said and winked, leaving Dean with a cold space in his arms where Castiel had stood, a severe case of bedhead and no food to compensate.

 

**~~~~~**

Castiel hurried back to the dining room after his detour, which hadn’t been entirely within his rights to make and he’d left Gabriel alone with a kid on his first shift which had the potential for disaster.  
Castiel was sure he had a ridiculous grin on his face as he jogged through the halls, but didn’t care.

Thankfully the dining room was still intact when he arrived and he slipped seamlessly into serving without the stewardnoticing he had disappeared. Gabriel didn’t bother to ask where he had gone, but instead launched into a tirade about the felonies of table eight and their substandard manners.

“I’m going to spit on their food. All of it,” Gabriel grumbled as he and Castiel walked towards the kitchen in a rare moment of synchronisation.

“I’m sure you can think of something more creative than that,” Castiel replied idly, opening the door. Gabriel shrugged and muttered something about limited resources.

 

Once the offending table had dispersed, Gabriel cheered up and in the lull he turned to Castiel with a mischievous look on his face.

“So, are we going to hear anything more about this little lady then?” he asked, eyebrows waggling outrageously. Castiel rolled his eyes.

He had had a feeling as he walked back from Dean’s room last night, hair in shambles and clothes crumpled, that he was going to have a hard time explaining why he was stumbling in so late. His plan to sneak in quietly and not wake anyone was thwarted by him tripping over a pair of shoes and Gabriel’s above-average hearing.

“Where have you been?” he had whispered from his bottom bunk, rolling over sleepily to look at Castiel, who was unbuttoning his shirt for the second time that night.

“None of your business,” Castiel had shot back maturely, which in retrospect was a bad idea as it only piqued Gabriel’s curiosity.

“Been in some lady’s room?” he’d asked, a childish glee roused in his voice.

“Something like that,” Castiel had sighed, swinging up into his bed. Gabriel had chucked softly.

“Good on you,” he said and sounded as though he was not finished with the conversation but when Gabriel poked his mattress from underneath, Castiel had pointedly ignored him,. He had soon given up and left Castiel to sleep, but Castiel had been naïve to hope that he might get away with his limited explanation.

“No,” Castiel replied and looked for something to clean just to distract Gabriel.

“One of the serving maids?” Gabriel asked, elbowing him in the side and Castiel frowned and began to wipe at a perfectly clean table.

“Cause there was one I met yesterday and,” Gabriel paused, fanning himself. “She was spectacular. Kali, I think her name was…” he trailed off slightly in a stupor and Castiel cringed, though he supposed he couldn’t take the moral high ground on demure sexual conduct **.**

He moved away to clear another table, but Gabriel followed him, snapping out of his revere and harassing him for an answer. Castiel eventually gave in and told him no, it was not a serving girl.

Gabriel furrowed his eyes for a moment, then gasped.

“Cas!” he exclaimed, “It’s not a _passenger_ is it?” Castiel said nothing, gathering glasses.

“Oh, it is isn’t it!” Gabriel said, ecstatic with his scandalous revelation. Castiel had to admit he hadn’t thought about the fact Dean was a passenger and cross interactions of that kind were forbidden, even platonically. He paused slightly in his cleaning and turned to Gabriel, who was grinning and looking horrified at the same time, which was impressive.

“Cas, you are in so much trouble,” Gabriel shrilled.

“Shut up,” Castiel hissed. “You trying to get me fired?” He glanced around for prying ears, but they were in relative isolation and he relaxed slightly.

“Look,” he said, feigning friendliness, unnerved by Gabriel’s continuing grin, “I know we can’t, but I am. And I will. And if you tell anyone about it, you’re dead.”

He wasn’t even bothered about this stupid job. It’s not like they would throw him in the ocean if he was fired. But he _was_ worried about not being able to see Dean again, either on the ship or when they disembarked. Memories of the previous night flared in his mind and he knew he didn’t want to lose that. Especially not because of a short idiot with an overly large mouth.

“Calm down, Cas,” Gabriel said, in mock-surprise, putting up his hands in surrender. “I don’t wanna get you in trouble. In fact, I’m impressed.”

Castiel raised an eyebrow.

“I thought you were a goody-two-shoes. I’m proud of you.” He slapped Castiel on the shoulder, grinning and walked away.

 

Gabriel didn’t say anything to him for the rest of the shift, for which he was glad, but he did raise his eyebrows suggestively every time their eyes caught. Castiel went from rolling his eyes to outright ignoring him as the shift wore on, until the last passenger had departed their meal and the place was tidy and ready for lunch.

“You coming then, Cassie?” Gabriel said, sliding up to him as they left the kitchen. He didn’t know when Gabriel had decided it was alright to call him Cassie, but he would make him rue that moment.

“Where?” Castiel asked, rolling up his sleeves and loosening his tie.

 “Oh,” Gabriel said, drawing out the syllables as if he’d received divine inspiration. “You weren’t _there_ last night when boss came in and told us about today’s exciting event.”

Castiel sighed. He was sure Gabriel had known that and he’d just asked to bring up Castiel’s absence again.

“And what might that be?” Castiel bit, rather than draw out his suffering.

“Staff meeting,” Gabriel said gruffly, his illusion of grandeur shattered and he grumbled again.

Castiel didn’t join in his mutterings, but instead followed him down the many flights of stairs to the crew’s area and into the meeting room, where a lot of bored shipmates were leaning against walls and tables. At the front stood the familiar figure of Balthazar, his hands raised in an expressive gesture, wine glass in one hand as he talked to someone vaguely important looking. Gabriel sighed over-dramatically and flopped down on a chair. Castiel hovered beside him, not wanting to commit to actually sitting down.

“Order, everyone, order,” Balthazar called to the almost-silent room and there was slight movement as a number of heads turned towards him and stared blankly.

“Thank-you all for coming,” he continued and was met with more silence.

He launched then into a dull tirade of encouragement, congratulations, complaint reports and vague urge at them to work like a _team,_ because there’s no ‘I’ in team, but there is an ‘I’ in pie, or something. Castiel stopped listening. Perhaps a couple of days ago he would have paid more attention, but his thoughts kept drifting to the previous night, then that morning, then wondering why he hadn’t seen Dean at breakfast. His room service hadn’t exactly excelled in providing food. Balthazar dismissed them with a cheerful wave and encouragements to keep doing what they were doing.

 

The company began to file out of the too-small door, conversations picking up slightly and Gabriel leapt from the table and pulled a paper bag out of his pocket.

“Want one?” he asked, shoving the bag under Castiel’s nose.    

Castiel shook his head and Gabriel shrugged, grabbing a handful of candies and unwrapped them. Castiel rolled his eyes, but Gabriel didn’t see.

As they turned to leave, being nearly the last ones in the room, Castiel heard his name called behind him.

He turned to see Balthazar him over with a theatrical gesture.

“Can I have a word?” The thick British accent continued and it made Castiel nervous. He made the mistake of glancing back towards Gabriel, who had momentarily abandoned his unwrapping and looked like Christmas had come early.

“Cassie’s in trouble,” he whispered gleefully and Castiel made a note to punch him when he next saw him as he watched Gabriel dart from the room. Castiel turned back again, forcing a smile and walked across the room to the raised platform where Balthazar stood.

 

Balthazar put his wine glass down on the table beside him and turned back towards Castiel slowly, reaching out a friendly arm to grasp his shoulder.

“Castiel,” he said and Castiel nodded dumbly. “You enjoying your journey so far?” he asked, a too-wide and overbearing smile plastered on his face. Castiel nodded again uncertainly. Balthazar nodded along as if this pleased him.

“Look, sport,” he began and Castiel cringed. “I can see you’re a hard-working, sensible boy.”

Castiel didn’t like where this was going.

“And I know you need this job,” Balthazar continued. Castiel nodded and Balthazar joined him in sympathy. “Got a family to support? People waiting at home?”

“Something like that,” Castiel admitted, wanting to shrug the hand from his shoulder but instead forcing himself to meet the blue eyes staring at him. They did not match his smile.

“Now,” Balthazar continued, squeezing his shoulder. “You were there at the induction, weren’t you?” Castiel nodded. “So you heard me talk about the proper decorum for dealing with passengers?”

Castiel nodded again and finally realised where Balthazar was going and his heart back flipped as if trying to run away from Balthazar’s next words.

“Now there’s nothing wrong with have a friendly riposte,” Balthazar shook his head, feigning sympathy. “But you _must_ keep relationships _professional.”_

Castiel nodded, not trusting himself to speak with the whirring in his mind, trying to figure out what Balthazar could have seen. He wanted to defend himself, to make some sort of excuse but he couldn’t. There weren’t any.

“Now, Cas,” Balthazar said, the nickname sounding unfriendly in his mouth, “Consider this a _warning_.” He paused for a moment as Castiel processed this.

“But warnings can easily become punishments if they are not heeded.” Balthazar withdrew his hand so quickly it startled Castiel and he put his foot in front of him to prevent himself falling. “And it will do you good to remember that just because its _dark_ doesn’t mean people can’t _see_ you.” Castiel swallowed.

“So, I suggest you focus on your work and keep all relationships professional, hey?” Balthazar picked up his wine glass again, any hint of malice gone, and the cheerful team leader was back in play.

“Yes, sir,” Castiel replied mechanically.

“Run along then!” he, waving his arms towards the door. Castiel was stunned only for a moment before he turned on his heels and walked towards the door, slowly so Balthazar didn’t think he’d scared him, but once outside in the hall, he picked up his pace and turned the meeting over in his mind.

Balthazar can’t have seen too much, or he’d be in a lot more trouble than he was. In fact, he’d probably just seen them talking or something. He didn’t need to worry, just be more careful. He wasn’t _scared_ of Balthazar; the only thing he could do was fire him. Fraternizing with customers wasn’t a hanging offense, as far as he knew.

Castiel realised with a jolt that Dean meant a lot more to him now than this job did. He could find another one of those easily enough, but people were irreplaceable. Especially people like Dean, who made such an impact in such a short time.

He decided not to tell Dean about the warning as he jogged through the halls, avoiding small children and adults alike. If he knew Dean at all, which he felt he did a little better now, he’d get worried and back-off and Castiel couldn’t stand that. He decided to just dismiss the meeting. Balthazar didn’t worry him – losing Dean did.

**~**

Castiel managed avoid Gabriel all though the lunch rush, ignoring the raised eyebrows that Gabriel threw at him, but once the last of the passengers left and there was no-where to hide, he allowed Gabriel to sidle up to him and busied himself with cleaning, which was quickly becoming an avoidance mechanism.

“What was that about?” he asked instantly and Castiel sighed, turning and shaking out his cloth.  
“Whatever are you referring to?” he said, moving to the next table.

“Don’t play stupid,” Gabriel said punching him on the arm. “What did old Balthy want?” he asked and began to pick up glasses.

“He wanted to apologise for making me work with someone so annoying,” Castiel said drly, glaring at Gabriel who was completely unphased.

“Seriously, though,” Gabriel persisted, following him through the dining room as Castiel tidied. He remained stoic for a while but Gabriel poking him in the spine grated his nerves.

“He was lecturing me on proper staff-guest relations, alright?” He said angrily, rounding on Gabriel and slamming a mug on the table. “Happy now?”

Gabriel looked startled for barely a moment, before his face broke into a grin as Castiel stormed away to unload his tray of crockery in the kitchen. He spun around and followed him.

“Seriously?” he asked as Castiel pushed through the door, hoping it would slam in Gabriel’s face. “That’s hilarious.”

Castiel continued to ignore him, but Gabriel persisted in asking questions.  
“Well, what are you going to do?” he said, following Castiel through the kitchen as he tried to organise his burden.

“Do?” he said tersely. “I’m not going to _do_ anything!”

Gabriel raised an eyebrow unnaturally high into his hairline and Castiel brushed past him to leave and Gabriel continued after him.

“You’re just gonna _ignore_ the boss?” he said incredulously.

Castiel sighed and turned to face him, and his eyes crinkled. “No. I’m not going to do anything. I’m not scared of Balthazar. Now, if you’ll excuse me.”

Gabriel twisted his mouth in mock respect, but said nothing as Castiel stormed away. He thought he’d escaped until Gabriel called out;

“Hey, Cas, mind doing me a favour?”

“No.”  Castiel uttered, not loud enough for him to hear and he walked into the dining area.

“See, there’s a party tonight and I was counting on us swapping cleaning duties so I could go,” Gabriel continued.

“No.” Castiel said louder.

“Please? It’s only one night,” Gabriel wheeled. “And Kali’s going to be there.”

“Still no,” Castiel said finally and ignored the plaintive pleas that followed him as he strode upstairs and out on deck to find the balming air that his irritated mind needed.

 

The sun encompassed the entire sky and the whole deck was far too bright and Castiel flung his hand up, in an uncomfortable military salute to shield his eyes until they adjusted. He nonchalantly made his way to the edge, dodging walkers and protruding flanks of metal and leaned his elbows on the rail. He took in a deep breath and breathed in the salty smell. It inflated his lungs and sent a revitalising draught through his body. He drummed his fingers gently on the metal bar in an improvised rhythm and stared across the pure blue canvas of sky and sea. It was beautiful. He drank in the scene until his inner calm was restored and then, though he could never tire of the view, turned around to lean his back on the rail and observe the deck. There were a lot of people out exploring the delights that a warm sun could bring to their journey. He nodded and smiled at any who looked his way, but the majority didn’t register his presence and he liked it like that.

Inevitably, his mood was flayed again by his mind’s insistence on wondering to the Balthazar’s words. He couldn’t quite make sense of them. Balthazar didn’t _know_ anything or else Castiel would be in a lot more trouble than he was. Balthazar just _suspected_ , which was a lot less dangerous. He had no grounds to actually punish Castiel, other than his observations of him taking to Dean. That was nothing. He had no reason to worry.

Looking automatically to his right, parallel to the direction of the boat, he willed it to go as fast as possible.

The moment they stepped off this boat, Castiel was no longer under contract and their relationship was lifted from the vigil of judgemental eyes and then they would be free to do as they pleased.

 

**~~~~~**

Dean squinted as he stepped out on deck and into the vicious midday sun. The stars had been violently replaced by sweep of blue and gold, not a single cloud tainting it. Dean tore his eyes away from the sky and thrust his hands in his pockets. Despite the sun, the air was not warm and there was an artificial breeze, whipped up by the impulse of the boat. It grabbed Dean's hair and the lapels of his jacket as he walked along the deck for a while, nodding at couples and families and breathing deeply. He walked half the circumference to the side that the sun couldn't penetrate, lost in his thoughts until the sight of a mop of black hair dragged him back into the present. Castiel was sitting on one of the chairs laid out on the deck; a small bubble of isolation around him for most people opted to deport themselves in the sun. Dean faltered for a moment, unsure whether to approach Castiel for he was concentrating intensely on something in front of him but an instinct in Castiel caused him to look up and he saw Dean, who could do nothing but stand, embarrassed like a child caught sneaking food from the kitchen.

Castiel waved, a pencil in his hand and a smile broke across his face. Dean relaxed and took it for an invitation and he flopped into the nearest vacant seat.

"Morning," Castiel said. "Again." Dean smiled and folded his hands awkwardly in his lap.

"Beautiful day," he remarked, though they had both taken action to remove themselves from the sun.

"Indeed," Castiel said. Dean picked at a stray thread on his pants. “You weren’t at lunch,” Castiel commented. “Or breakfast. I almost get the impression you were avoiding me.” Dean looked over quickly.

“No,” he said. “I just wanted to explore the other culinary options available, you know.”  
“Were they better?” Castiel asked, almost a challenge.  
“The waiters weren’t as handsome,” Dean supplied and he saw Castiel’s mouth twitch into a smile for just a moment.

“Seriously though, I just wanted to see. I’m certainly not avoiding you.”

“Good,” Castiel murmured. His head lolled back in the chair and looked up at the sky. Dean followed his gaze as if he were expecting a fascinating change to have occurred. It hadn't and the sky was still the unblemished blue it had been moments before.

"Isn't it wonderful how the sky can change so much in just a few hours?" he said. Dean presumed he didn't want an answer, but made an affirmative noise anyway.

"Strange how anything can change so quickly," he commented, fiddling with his hands. Castiel turned to him and raised an eyebrow.

"Very philosophical," he said, the light in his eyes good natured and Dean laughed and looked down. As he did so he caught a glimpse of white paper in Castiel's lap.

"What's that?" he asked, gesturing to it. Castiel looked down, picked it up and looked at it, as though surprised it was still there.

"A sketchbook," he said, turning it over in his hands so Dean couldn't see the drawing he’d presumably just been working on.

"You draw?" Dean asked, impressed. "You didn’t tell me that last night. Can I see?"

Castiel shrugged. "I’m no professional," he said as he handed the pad to Dean, who turned it over carefully in his hands, not wanting to disturb its contents. The page Castiel had been working on contained the rough outlines of a landscape, which looked as though it was intended to flourish into the view from where they sat. He recognised the piled lifeboats to their right and the railings which created an artificial barrier between sky and sea.

"Looks good," Dean said. Castiel laughed in protest. "Or at least, I'm sure it will look good when it's done," Dean amended.

"Just passing the time," Castiel said and shifted, closing his eyes against the sky.

Dean turned a couple of pages backwards, finding familiar sights of the Titanic, the dining room and the grand staircase. All were unfinished but instantly recognisable.

"You're really talented," Dean said reverently and Castiel made a dismissive noise.

Dean flicked closer to the front of the book, and instead of places, people looked out from the pages. He didn't recognise any of the faces and wondered who they were and what part they played in Castiel's life. He was about to ask about the identity of a beautiful red-haired woman when he turned another page and let out a small shout.

"What is that?" He asked in initial horror. He heard Castiel laugh and his anguish too dissolved into amusement. He knew exactly what it was and didn't need Castiel's explanation.

"It's a naked man, Dean," he said slightly sarcastically.

"Why?" he asked, his surprise not fully worn off and making his voice slightly higher than normal. "Who?"

"The nude form is a beautiful thing Dean. It has been appreciated in art for centuries. I was merely continuing the tradition" Castiel offered in reply. "As for who, well. The least said about that the better."

"You're not getting away with that," Dean said, as he turned another page to find another picture of the same man, reclining on a couch. Castiel sighed and sat up.

"Fine. If you must know, he was a prostitute, recently emigrated from Europe. We were friends. He taught me French. I asked him to pose for me." Dean closed the book, his curiosity thoroughly abated.

"Did you...were you?" he asked, awkwardly. It was none of his business, but curiosity got the better of him. The man was attractive, even in pencil lines.

"I prefer not to pay," Castiel said, smiling and turning his head towards Dean, eyes now open. "That doesn't mean I don't take freebies."

Dean shook his head in mock exasperation and handed the book back.

"Jealous?" Castiel asked, angelic innocence plastered all over his face.

"Certainly not," Dean protested. And he was sure he wasn't. He had no right to resent Castiel's prior entanglements after one night spent together. It wasn’t like he was completely clean himself.

"Sure," Castiel said as though he didn't believe him. Dean wasn't sure he believed himself enough to protest further. Castiel turned his head away, but reached his hand out and squeezed Dean's then recoiled in a movement so fast that Dean wasn't even sure it had happened.

“I ain’t got the right to be jealous,” Dean said, reassuring himself more than Castiel, and his companion laughed.

“Sometimes one does not have the right to do something, but one does it anyway,” Castiel said and his eyes closed again and Dean chanced a look at his face, illuminated by the heat of the day, every perfection and every flaw laid out for Dean to marvel. Dean fiddled with his sleeve as Castiel breathed the fresh sea air deeply and sighed.

“You got a watch?” he asked and Dean’s hand dug into his pocket and retrieved his pocket watch.

“A quarter to one,” he provided and tucked it away.

“Break time’s over for me then,” Castiel said loosely and his eyes reopened and he looked at Dean, grinning. “No rest for the wicked.”

“You’re not wicked,” Dean said stupidly and looked down at the sketch book on which Castiel’s fingers drummed out a rhythm. “Just a little perverted.”

Castiel laughed loudly and tucked the book under his arm, then leaned in and said under his breath, “Perhaps you should check where your genitals have been before feigning innocence.” Dean’s eyes widened and he scowled at Castiel, who was pushing himself out of his chair.

“May I have the pleasure of meeting with you again this evening?” Castiel said from his new standpoint, arm reaching across his torso to hold the book.

“Are you asking me on a date?” Dean shot back, squinting into the harsh blue glare of the sky, still slightly miffed by Castiel’s previous comment.

“I suppose,” Castiel said as though he hadn’t considered the option. “I propose we meet here at, say, ten?”

“Right here?” Dean confirmed and Castiel nodded. Dean gave a resigned shrug, trying not to make his anticipation visible.

“If that’s all right with you,” Castiel said, and winked. Dean’s remaining irritation with him melted away instantly. He nodded a confirmation. Castiel lingered for a moment, but neither of them said anything.  Dean waited for the other man to speak as he didn’t trust himself to say anything sensible.

“Goodbye, Dean,” Castiel said eventually and turned away with a smile.

“Bye,” Dean answered and he watched Castiel walk away, and then glanced at his watch again. Just a few more hours and they’d be meeting again. Dean was slightly worried at how much he was looking forward to it.

 

 

 


	6. Chapter 6

Dean tapped his pocket watch inanely, ducked his head down and stared at his feet. He’d arrived early, hoping that would calm his jitters but had instead made them worse, now worrying that Castiel wasn’t going to appear. In an attempt at distraction he’d untied his uncomfortable bowtie and thrust it in his pocket, then looked up towards the sky to admire the stars. He didn’t notice a figure approaching him until it tapped him on the shoulder and he turned with a start. A smile broke across his face when he met the bright blue eyes he’d been waiting for.

“You’re late,” he said lightly, eyes tracking Castiel’s movements as he mirrored Dean’s position on the railings.

“Gabriel kicked up a fuss about staying late,” Castiel said and shook his head in mock despair.

“Is he the short one?” Dean asked and Castiel grunted an affirmation.

“Said he was missing a party or something…I wasn’t really listening. Have you been out here long?” Castiel said, turning to Dean. “I apologise.”

“No, no.” Dean brushed him off with a wave.

“It’s a quarter past,” Castiel said, gesturing to Dean’s watch, still hanging limp in his hand. “We arranged to meet at ten.”

Dean shrugged and tucked the gold chain away. “It’s no problem.”

“Your hands are blue,” Castiel insisted and he covered Dean’s nearest hand with his own. Castiel’s were barely warmer that his but Dean appreciated the touch that tingled through his fingers and up his wrist.

“Hadn’t noticed,” Dean admitted, keeping his voice even. “Had other things on my mind.” He turned to Castiel and winked. Castiel raised an eyebrow and grinned.

“Is that so?” he mused. Before Dean could reply, he thrust a packet towards Dean.

“Cigarette?” he asked. Dean slid one out and thanked him. They lit up simultaneously with his matchbook and Dean took a deep breath, the warmth filling his lungs. Castiel blew a long line of smoke hard in front of him and watched it uncurl into the night.

“So, Dean,” Castiel began, “I’ve been thinking.”

“Oh dear,” Dean said, an onslaught of possibilities running through his mind, which he masked with a nonchalant drag on the cigarette.

Castiel rolled his eyes. “I was thinking, our conversation yesterday was a little,” he laughed. “Interrupted.”

Dean nodded and looked down. That had been his fault, though he didn’t see Castiel complaining.

“So I never got to find out everything I wanted.”

“What do you want, man? My whole life story?” Dean asked sarcastically.

“If we’re going to do this,” Castiel began, gesturing across the water, then stopped and took another drag of smoke into his lungs. Dean tapped his cylinder on the rail. “Well what I’m trying to say is yes, perhaps that would be a good place to start.” He looked at Dean as though the fate of the world rested on their conversation. He had that look often, part complimentary and part unsettling.

“If that’s alright with you,” Castiel seemed to correct himself and looked forwards again, the cigarette forgotten, dangling between his fingers.

Dean opened his mouth, trying to tame the tangle of thoughts Castiel was inspiring, but nothing was in focus. Castiel’s profile was distracting.

“How about you go first?” he managed, an attempt to divert the attention from himself. Castiel laughed and looked down and Dean was struck with an overwhelming urge to grab him and take him somewhere far away, where they could do whatever they wanted and have as long as they needed to learn each other.

Castiel smiled. “That seems like a fair request. Alright then.”

Dean made himself comfortable against the railings watching Castiel's profile, illuminated by the moonlight, wind ruffling through his hair and he told Dean everything.  
He told him slowly about the death of his parents and the struggle it brought upon his family. He told him how his older brothers used to fight and the younger ones were eternally caught in the crossfire. “Always wanting us to pick sides.” He sighed. “I wanted to be my own side - the side where no one got hurt.” He sighed as he told Dean about Anna and the hole she left in their family which couldn’t’ be filled. He told Dean how he’d worked as he could but never fitted in until he had heard the intimate call of the sea from across the bay and it called to him 'freedom.'  
He told him how he’d never met anyone that caught his eye in the same way as Dean had and Dean blushed but Castiel wasn’t looking at him. Castiel told him how excited he had been to be employed on the ship of dreams and now he was here, the name seemed less cheesy and more like a fulfilled promise. “I think it was fated that I come here." Dean didn’t question why. Castiel took a last pull on his cigarette before stabbing it out on the rail.

“And now I’ve told you my whole life story,” he said smiling. Then he turned to Dean and requested Dean do the same.  
Dean told him about his mother and how he used to sing him to sleep before she died in a fire. He told Castiel how his father then became obsessed with work and the tougher times before his business took off, his fists clenched as he remembered long nights and scraped together meals. He told him how he turned to Sammy for support and they had become close beyond words. He told him about Lisa, the girl he had almost married. “But she broke it off. I don’t know why. I think she just sensed I wasn’t all there,” he admitted for the first time out loud. He told Castiel about how Sam had gone off to college to become a big name lawyer and Dean had been so envious that he was stuck being the dutiful son in a world he hated. He told Castiel about the boring trip to England but how he was glad he’d gone because it meant he’d met Castiel.

  
Castiel’s face softened while Dean talked and he turned to him, eyes smiling.

“It’s good to know you feel the same as I.”

Dean didn’t know what to say, so remained silent. He felt like words should be said, that there was something tangible in the minimal distance between their elbows, which needed addressing but couldn’t quite be captured. Castiel was still gazing at him and Dean couldn’t drag himself away.

Then, with a movement that startled Dean, Castiel’s arm gripped his bicep and his grin spread across his face, nose crinkled in delight.

“I’ve decided something,” he announced.

“What?” Dean asked, his mind still stuck in the physical contact between them, not yet caught onto the words.

“I’m going to take you to a _real_ party,” Castiel said and pushed himself from the rail and sliding his hand down to Dean’s wrist.

Dean blinked in confusion but allowed himself to be dragged upright and tossed his finished cigarette away.

“You said you’d never been dancing properly. Or even to a social event that wasn’t designed with boredom in mind.”

Dean raised an eyebrow and nodded.

“Well then, We’re going to have some fun,”  Castiel declared.

“Right,” Dean nodded slowly, the nearest Castiel was going to get to an agreement.

“But first we need to get you out of those clothes,” Castiel said as he let go of Dean’s wrist, convinced that he was going to follow him, blind to Castiel’s intentions as he may be.

Dean didn’t question his statement and motioned for Castiel to lead the way.

 

**~~~~~~~**

For the second time that day Castiel stood in Dean’s room, but it was the first time he took the opportunity to admire it. It was rather splendid, though Castiel noted that Dean hadn’t put any effort into making it his own. The only hint that it was occupied was the tattered book on the bed, some notepaper on the coffee table and, most telling, the man himself standing in front of a semi-filled wardrobe.

“So, what’s the dress code for these things?” he asked, turning his head back at Castiel, who had arranged himself comfortably on the couch to watch.

“That’s the point,” Castiel laughed. “There is no dress code. Just something comfortable.” Dean shrugged and Castiel watched the agitation of Dean’s shirt fabric as the man undid the buttons. The fabric slid away slowly and Castiel suspected Dean was deliberately taking his time.

He was convinced of this when Dean carefully smoothed the shirt down and hung it up, though Castiel was more interested in watching the muscles of Dean’s back move and tense in a way that made Castiel want to reach out and _touch_ , the warm lighting dancing across his skin like the sun on the sea.

“You’re the reason artists exist,” Castiel said softly, the filter on his mouth numbed. He got it, suddenly. He understood why he and so many others needed to draw and create likenesses of the world – because they wanted to preserve perfections like the one he was beholding.

“Pardon?” Dean said and turned his head to face Castiel, eyes narrowed. Castiel cleared his throat.

“Not just you,” he corrected. “People like you,” he shook his head, smiling down at his lap. “Beauty like that needs to be captured…”

“Is that why you’re an artist?” Dean said quietly, turning around, a subtle bush fading onto his cheeks.

“Like I said, just a hobby,” Castiel dismissed. “But yes, I suppose so.” Dean didn’t reply, but started to flick through his clothes again, silently as if considering Castiel’s realisation. Castiel leaned across the table and took the note paper and withdrew a pencil from his pocket. He leaned back on the arm of the couch, his legs stretched in front of him. He studied Dean’s back again and the way it moved as he judged shirts for their suitability and Castiel placed the lead against the paper, enjoying in the light scratching sounds it made as he dragged it across the page and watched it create the strong lines of Dean’s back beneath it. If Dean heard the noise, he didn’t say anything, but Castiel had barely a minute to take down the outline before Dean turned and held up a simple white shirt, which was more casual than anything Castiel had seen him wear before and asked for his approval. Castiel nodded, only glancing up quickly before returning his eyes to the paper. His peripheral vision saw Dean walk towards him, sliding his arms into the worn fabric. He leaned over the back of the sofa and watched Castiel draw a final line, before meeting Dean’s eyes. The brunette’s eyebrow was raised.

“That’s me.”

“I hope that’s alright,” Castiel said.

“It’s…fine,” he replied. Castiel smiled. It wasn’t even a good drawing and it would never be as good as the real thing, Castiel mused. Perhaps that was why artists were so often sad.

“You’re perfect,” he said, the words falling out of his mouth, shocking the silence and Dean along with it. He blushed and ducked his head down.

“I’m sorry I can’t do you justice on paper,” he amended. “At least in such little time.” He nudged Dean’s chin with his fingers and brought their lips together gently. Dean sighed as Castiel’s hand moved to cup his cheek, pulling him in closer and Castiel shut his eyes, everything forgotten except the feel of Dean’s mouth moving slowly under his.

Dean drew away and licked his lips.

“Then draw me properly,” he said softly. “Draw me like your French gentleman.”

Castiel’s eyes widened in surprise and swallowed thickly as he drank in Dean’s offer, the thought of Dean laid out for him to admire and study sparking beautiful thoughts.

“Y-yeah,” he said. “I would love to.”

“Thought you may,” muttered Dean and leant back in and kissed the side of Castiel’s mouth. Castiel hummed his appreciation and closed his eyes once more.

If a deft movement that Castiel felt rather than saw, Dean swung his legs over the side of the sofa and arranged himself lightly on top of Castiel, without their lips parting. Castiel wrapped his arms tight around Dean’s torso and pulled him in. Dean had tucked the shirt in and Castiel ruined the tidiness to run his hands up the expanse of Dean’s back. He tensed and shivered slightly at Castiel’s cold hands and Castiel apologised profusely into his mouth.

They broke away panting, and Castiel ran his hand through his hair.

“You have no idea what you do to me,” he said, in mock exasperation which couldn’t hide the fondness the soft look in Dean’s eyes instilled in him.

“We can do it now, if you like. It won’t take long for me to get this off,” Dean murmured, gesturing at his outfit then leaned in to press kisses into Castiel’s neck and he sighed happily and twitched his head like a cat to allow better access.

“No,” he murmured half-heartedly. “We have the rest of our lives for drawing. The party ends in a few hours.”  He pushed Dean’s shoulders a little and Dean broke away from his neck with a gentle smack of his lips, leaving Castiel’s skin tingling just below the surface.

“We can come back here later,” Castiel promised and Dean smiled. “And continue this.”

“Fine,” Dean said, as though resigning after a long argument.

“Come on then,” Castiel said, pushing Dean off him and untangling their legs to find purchase on the floor. He rose and tossed the paper loosely on the table.  
“Not my best work,” Castiel dismissed. He turned to Dean, “But my best subject,” He winked and Dean laughed, pushing himself from the sofa.

“So where is this elusive party then?” he asked as he followed Castiel to the door.

“I don’t actually know,” he admitted.

 

**~~~~~~~~~**

“Voila!” he announced half an hour later, after his Sherlockian techniques of deduction, which included asking people and following the sound of music, had successfully led them to the location of the promised party. Dean had made a few snide comments about Castiel’s lack of navigational skills, which Castiel had adeptly brushed away, as they had made it with relatively little problem considering the size of the boat.

 

Castiel shuffled in, pulling Dean along beside him into the throng of bodies, many of which were already hopping and tapping to the bagpipe music that blared from a group near the centre of the room. Castiel pushed nearer to the front of the crowd, yelling ‘excuse-me’ over the noise of the tipsy rabble.

“You alright?” he asked as he turned to face Dean and gauge his reaction. He was fiddling with his shirt cuff.

“’S very crowded,” he said, voice raised and his eyes flickered around the room, taking in the sights of men and women dancing together and on their own, and the people gathered around tables, heartily knocking back pints. “And loud,” he added.

“That’s the point,” Castiel called back enthusiastically, dodging to avoid a particularly enthusiastic couple who careed towards the crowd.

“Good,” Dean said. “I like it. So, this is a _real_ party, huh?” He continued, still taking it all in.

“Yep,” Castiel said, grinning.

“So what do we _do_? _”_ He asked, gesturing vaguely.

Castiel smiled and slapped his arm. “Dance, of course!” he said, eager to show Dean what a good time he had been missing and was still delaying.

“Together?” Dean asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Sure,” Castiel assured, not wanting to trust Dean to anyone else that night, what with his devilish good looks and endearing lost-puppy demeanour.

“Two men?” Dean asked, still looking nervously at the crowd.

Castiel shrugged. He was pretty sure no-one was going to begrudge two men jiving together. Particularly if they were drunk… He looked around and spotted some drinks abandoned on a table by two men who seemed too inebriated to do anything expect laugh hysterically. Motioning for Dean to follow, he sidled up to the table and plucked the two drinks up without protest from their owners.

“Cheers!” he said, handing one to Dean and knocking back the other himself. It was disgusting and both he and Dean grimaced simultaneously then laughed at the other’s expression.

“Tastes like gasoline!” Dean chocked and Castiel nodded and raised his glass to tap it against Dean’s before they both gulped down the liquid in its entirety. Dean wiped his mouth and slammed the glass back on the table. Castiel grinned.

“Now we’re getting somewhere,” he said appreciatively.

“So what now?” Dean asked. “Do we…?” he gestured to the where a multitude of people were enjoying the lively jig that the band had struck up. Castiel nodded and took Dean by the crook of his elbow, leading him nearer the centre, but far enough from the middle so that there was little attention on them. Not that it would have mattered; everyone was either too drunk or having too much fun to notice the odd pair. Dean seemed to sense this and Castiel felt the tension in his arms relax as they turned to face each other.  
“I don’t know the steps to this,” Dean admitted, looking hopefully at Castiel.  
“Me neither,” Castiel yelled over the music and he shrugged. “More fun that way,” Dean raised an eyebrow.

“Right,” he said. With the intention of removing his doubts as soon as possible Castiel grabbed Dean’s hand, pulling him forwards then pushing back him out, vaguely to the time of the music. Dean got the idea quickly and soon they were doing an inelegant but co-ordinated dance which involved a lot of whirling. Castiel attempted to spin Dean round under his arm, but got stuck before he realised Dean was too tall and they ended up as a hysterical tangle of limbs, to the amusement of the people around them, who persuaded them to join their dancing reel, which only one person seemed to know the steps to. Castiel looked over at Dean as often as possible to gauge his reaction and was relieved each time to see that Dean seemed to be enjoying himself, laughing with Castiel and their companions. It turned out Dean was pretty good on his feet, twirling the ladies round elegantly and adding in his own little solo steps which had everyone cheering. The few beads of sweat that had accumulated on his forehead in the hot room didn’t appear to be concerning him but made Castiel rather hot under the collar in a different way and he almost wished he could declare their relationship in a fit of possessiveness. The looks Dean was getting from some of the young women did not go unnoticed by Castiel, but he brushed them aside, reassured every time Dean grinned or winked at him.

Eventually the company were all too tired to continue and were forced to retire from the floor and Dean slapped an arm across Castiel’s shoulders and announced, “That was the most fun I’ve had in _forever,_ ” he said, still laughing a little. Castiel grinned.

“I’m glad you’re enjoying yourself,” he said sincerely and Dean continued to smile and straightened himself up as they headed to a semi-occupied table.

 

~

 

A couple of beers later and Dean could see that Castiel was watching Dean watch him dance with a small girl who had approached with her father, one of Castiel’s colleagues. The man himself was involved in an intense but friendly arm wrestle to Dean’s left but he was ignoring it. In fact he had barely even glanced at the pair or the crowd gathering around them, in favour of watching Castiel. He twirled the small girl round gracefully, smiling while she laughed, safe in his hands.

The band finished playing that particular dance and Castiel gently released the girl and walked back over to Dean, just as the arm wrestle next to him was lost by the girl’s father, to uproarious cheers and cries of disappointment. Dean grimaced at Castiel who returned it and he told the girl to run along.

“Having fun?” Castiel asked, leaning on the back of Dean’s chair and reached across him pilfer a swig of his drink.

“Oh, definitely,” Dean affirmed and beckoned Castiel to lean closer. He obliged and Dean said quietly, “I enjoy watching you dance.”

Castiel raised his eyebrows and smiled, touching Dean between the shoulder blades, innocuous to anyone watching, but sending a shivering alert through his senses.

“Likewise,” Castiel said more loudly and Dean grinned. He wanted to leave and take Castiel somewhere private where they could enjoy each other more thoroughly, but he liked the atmosphere of the event. It was relaxed, no-one judging anyone else for their actions or appearance. His foot tapped the rhythm of the tune and his finger slid round the rim of his glass as he relaxed further into his chair, Castiel’s hand lingering against his neck.

He was about to suggest Castiel draw up his own chair rather than hover when one of the men sharing the table elbowed him.

“How about you, pretty boy, just gonna sit there?” he said, gesturing to the challenge at the table. There was no malice in his tone, the only confrontation being slightly drunken teasing but Dean could never resist a challenge to his pride.

“You sure you wanna face this?” he said, rounding on the man with mock aggression then grinned as he raised laughs and whistles from the crowd.

“Dean…” Castiel said, sounded almost exasperated and his hand moved to grip Dean’s shoulder. Dean ignored him. He was in no trouble for he was far more sober than any other participant had been.

“Bring it on!” the original challenger said and Dean shrugged.

“Your funeral,” he said and rolled up his sleeve, flexing his arm slightly, more for Castiel’s benefit than anyone else. Castiel sighed behind him, but resigned his hand from Dean’s shoulder with a squeeze.

“Show off,” he muttered and Dean grinned and fixed his elbow on the table. The man mirrored his position and they grasped hands. Another man, apparently acting as umpire, counted them in and Dean furrowed his brow in concentration, channelling all his strength into his arm. The other man was a lot stronger than he looked and it took a good thirty seconds for Dean to slam his hand on the table, after which there was a pause then a raucous cheer. Dean laughed it off and the defeated shrugged and asked for more beer. Dean turned towards Castiel, who shook his head at him, but couldn’t hide his grin.

“Well done,” he said sarcastically and Dean pushed himself out of his chair.

“Wanna get out of here?” he asked quietly and Castiel took a look around then nodded. Dean gave his opponent a salute on the way out and they walked shoulder to shoulder across the room and out the door.

Once in the hall, Castiel started laughing.                                      

“What?” Dean protested.

“You just – ah,” Castiel began and slapped Dean on the shoulder. “You just keep surprising me, that’s all.”

Dean rolled his eyes but Castiel’s laughter was contagious and he eventually grinned.

“When you’re finished,” he said, motioning to the hall in front of them and Castiel nodded and they set off together.

“God,” Castiel began, a few decks later, tilting his head upwards. “There is so much I want to do with you when we reach home.”

“You’ve already done more than enough,” Dean said honestly but Castiel shook his head.

“No,” he said emphatically. “We’ve barely scratched the surface.”

Dean raised his eyebrows, pressing for an explanation.

“I don’t even know where to start,” Castiel said. “A gay bar, perhaps.” He winked. Dean spluttered.

“So,” Castiel said, his expression changed slightly. “You should stick with me. If you want to, when we reach home.”

Dean swallowed. It wasn’t an offer. It was a question.

“Yeah,” he said quietly. He glanced to make sure the hall was empty, then gently took Castiel’s hand. “I do.” Somewhere during this conversation, they had reached to Dean’s door and they stood in front of it awkwardly.

Castiel smiled, his answer secured and remained silent as Dean fumbled with the key, not turning away or releasing their hands.

“Do you want to come inside?” he whispered as the door slipped open. Castiel nodded and they entered, closing the door behind them. Dean’s head buzzed slightly from the alcohol and the dim light in the room did not help his co-ordination. All he wanted was to tumble into bed with Castiel and never get up. He glanced towards the clock. The night was bearing down on them and he pulled Castiel towards him gently and raised his eyebrows, asking for permission. Castiel closed his eyes in admittance and pressed their mouths together and Dean relaxed and is eyes fluttered shut. The only thing he sensed became Castiel’s lips pushing into his and the careful swipe of his tongue then the taste within Castiel’s mouth which mixed divinely with cheap alcohol. Castiel drew away and Dean made to follow, opening his eyes.

“You enjoyed this evening, then?” Castiel murmured, smiling.

“Definitely,” Dean said, moving his head to drag his lips across Castiel’s cheek, reaching down to his neckline, drawing out a contented hum.

“You were very good for a first timer.” Castiel leaned his head back to allow Dean access and he licked the expanse exposed before him, wanted to mark it, catalogue the imperfections, but for now settled on teasing with his tongue and sucking little red patches where he could reach.

“I’m quite a good dancer, you know,” he said, his low voice spilling across Castiel’s neck. “I can out waltz anyone.”

“Oh yeah?” Castiel said. Dean didn’t reply, busying himself with the noises Castiel made when Dean tugged his teeth at his earlobe. “Show me,” Castiel requested, nudging Dean back up to face him. Dean had been about to suggest moving onto something that no longer required being vertical, but Castiel’s eyes were wide and asking and Dean couldn’t deny that look.

“There’s no music,” he pointed out and glanced around as if a full orchestra might appear.

“Do we need any?” Castiel said, quietly, drawing Dean’s eyes back to face him.

“I guess not,” Dean whispered, not wanting to disturb the envelope of quiet which had enshrouded the orange haze of the room. 

“Follow my lead,” he requested and Castiel nodded, his body going pliant and Dean wrapped one arm tightly around Castiel’s waist. The feel of his body in Dean’s arms was wholly different to the women he usually danced with; it was stronger and harder and the hand at his shoulder was gripping tightly.

“Right,” he said, pulling Castiel’s loose hand in close to his chest. “Left leg, 2, 3, right leg, 2, 3.”

Dean counted out a beat, guiding Castiel gently through the steps and turned them in a small circle. Castiel followed him perfectly and he stopped counting but they continued and Dean nodded, pleased, at the natural rhythm they fell into. Castiel wasn’t smiling, but was staring intently at Dean. He closed his eyes and the gap between their mouths and they gently stopped as the kiss became deeper, Dean’s tongue driving on a desire to explore Castiel’s whole mouth as Castiel wrapped both his arms around him, drawing them together as close as possible.

“I want you,” Dean muttered into Castiel’s mouth and Castiel nodded in agreement, humming approval.

"That can be arranged," Castiel murmured and his hands brushed over Dean's and joined him in undoing the buttons of his own shirt. Dean slipped the soft fabric from his shoulders and laid it carefully on the back of the sofa, rather than throwing it across the room as he had done the night before. He didn't feel hurried now as he traced meaningless patterns down Castiel's sides, causing him to shiver and arch slightly into Dean's touch. Dean kissed his lips then trailed his mouth over Castiel's cheek and paved a path to his ear, where he nibbled gently at the lobe; drawing out a long contented hum. Dean's arms wrapped around Castiel's warm body and his hands swept gently down, from shoulders to the base of his spine and he pressed into the indented small of Castiel's back, tracing circles. Castiel's hands left Dean's shoulders and he squeezed them between their flush bodies to disrobe Dean of his shirt, which had started off the evening pressed but had been rumpled by activity. Dean let go of Castiel long enough to allow his shirt to fall before he wrapped the man up again, Castiel's strong arms reaching around his neck as Dean kissed him again, a gentle press of lips that evolved into Dean nibbling contentedly. The press of warm skin was doing delicious things to Dean's mind and he shivered when Castiel mimicked his own actions and tickled his long fingers down Dean's sides.

"I want you naked," he whispered into Castiel's mouth, unable to bear the thought that there were swathes of Castiel's skin that weren't pressed up against his own.

"I was hoping you'd say that," Castiel murmured back and relaxed his hold slightly. "I see there is a bed over there." Dean reluctantly opened his eyes, lips lingering open in case Castiel felt like closing the distance again, but Castiel peeled their torsos apart and pulled Dean slowly over to the bed, smiling the entire time, his skin lightly flushed pink and in the soft light he looked divine. Dean took a long step and pulled Castiel into him by the arm, then trailed his fingers down his abdomen and picked at the buttons on his pants, lingering over them before undoing. Castiel moved his hands from Dean's arm to his own hips and pushed his pants off them. Dean rubbed his thumbs along the prominent hipbones while Castiel's hands wondered to Dean's pants and soon they were pooled on the floor too. He spun Dean carefully around so the blanket tickled the back of Dean's knees and gave him a push. He bounced slightly onto the bed and reached his arms up for Castiel to join him and Castiel sunk down into his lap, wrapping his long legs like a spider around Dean's waist and Dean pulled him in, tilting his head upwards to capture Castiel's mouth again and they kissed slowly, tongues dragging along the other's lips and teeth before languidly waltzing together. Castiel fidgeted slightly in Dean's lap, generating a delicate drag of friction from his underwear and their breaths hitched. Castiel hinted his desires, pushing softly at Dean’s shoulder to get him to lie back. Dean shuffled backwards onto the bed, pulling Castiel with him, trying to maintain as much physical contact between them before they both tumbled onto the sheets, the mattress springing them back up for disturbing its peace.

"Your bed is very soft. I like it," Castiel murmured against Dean's neck as he licked tiny pictures against it, his evening shadow scratching slightly at the sensitive skin and Dean’s shoulder twitched. Castiel hummed what was almost a laugh.

"It tickles," Dean said but placed his hand gently in the fuzz of Castiel's hair so he wouldn't move. "And my bed is open to you any time."

Castiel hummed approvingly against his skin and Dean ran his hands again over the planes of Castiel's back, feeling the muscles ripple as Castiel moved his arms to support himself on Dean's chest and pushed himself up. Dean cocked his head questioningly, chest struck by cold. Castiel winked at him before wiggling slightly lower down Dean's body and he stuck his tongue out, catlike, and flicked it against one of Dean's nipples. He made a small gasp as the sensation went straight downwards and Castiel smiled against his skin as he took a nipple in his mouth and lathered his tongue against it. Dean squirmed, almost embarrassed. No one had done that before and it was opening a well of untapped delights. Dean stroked a hand through Castiel's hair and it bounced up to stick in confused directions. Castiel bit gently on his nipple and Dean's throat rippled out a moan as Castiel soothed the bite with his tongue before sliding back up Dean's body and pushing their mouths together. Castiel was nestled perfectly between his legs and Dean rolled his hips upwards languidly and their cocks slowly skimmed each other through their underwear. Castiel huffed at the motion and followed suit, pushing his hips down more forcefully and pressing a tongue into Dean's mouth.

"I said naked," he reminded Castiel and in a frenzy that was dampened by their sweet kisses, they removed their underwear and finally, finally Castiel crawled back on top of Dean and their cocks pressed against each other, the hard heat and sensation perspiring a little on their foreheads. Castiel rolled experimentally down, pushing himself up onto raised arms so they were joined only from the waist and below. Dean looked down to see their cocks gliding together and felt the sweet electricity shoot through his length and tingled every pleasure nerve he had. They let out a simultaneous groan and Castiel had closed his eyes. Dean tilted his hips imperceptibly upwards, seeking greater friction. Castiel moaned an approval and Dean rolled his hips up to meet him stroke for stroke and their breathing became louder, until it was just shy of panting... Dean tingled with every thrust and it felt too good to be real…but it just wasn’t quite enough.

"Cas," Dean moaned. "More, please."

"More what?" He breathed in reply, opening his eyes. They were almost completely black with desire. "What do you want?"

"You," Dean said, reaching a hand up to cup Castiel's face.

"You have me," he said, demonstrating his point with another slow roll and Dean let out a strangled moan. He looked Castiel straight in the eyes.

"No," Dean said. "I mean I _want_ you."

Realisation dawned and Castiel opened his eyes wide.

"Are you sure?" He asked and Dean nodded. "Fuck, Dean yes, okay." He leaned down to kiss Dean again, slightly dirtier this time with tongues fighting rather than dancing, open mouthed with moans pouring out as their hips remained joined. Castiel eventually drew back.

"But, uh," he said and Dean opened his eyes again. "Do you want to...or should I...to you?"

Dean paused. He hadn't considered that far ahead.

"You," he said. "In me."

Castiel swallowed.

"Are you sure?" he asked, stroking a hand down Dean's face. Dean nodded.

"You have more experience," he pointed out and Castiel nodded.

"I don't want to hurt you," Castiel said, biting his lip.

"God, Cas, do I look that fragile?" Dean said, gripping Castiel's hips and pushing them together to prove his point.

"No, Dean, fuck, okay," Castiel said and his eyes blew black again. "Have you got any...stuff?" He asked gesturing vaguely to their joined crotches. Dean leaned up on elbows.

"For someone who's done this before, you're amazingly awkward," he chastised and Castiel hit him on the arm. Dean threw his arm across the bed and stretched for the dresser but couldn’t reach.

"It's in the drawer," he said and Castiel leaned over Dean to retrieve it. Dean ran his hands along Castiel's back as he rummaged and settled them once more on the curve of his ass. It was becoming a favourite vantage point and he squeezed, urging Castiel to hurry. He twitched and drew himself back on top of Dean, armed with a jar of vaseline.

"Why do you even have this?" Castiel asked, peering at it.

"I had two weeks alone in England," Dean defended. "What else was I supposed to do?"

Castiel put it on the pillow by Dean's head and kissed him softly, sucking on his lip.

"Have you used it since boarding?" He asked in a completely innocent tone, running obscene trails with his fingers lower and lower down Dean's body.

"I didn't need to last night," Dean reminded him and Castiel smiled against his mouth.

"What about the night before that?" He pushed and Dean swallowed.

"Maybe," he admitted, trying to distract Castiel by running the pads of his thumbs against Castiel's nipples. His breath hitched and his grip on Dean's hips grew tighter, but he didn't relent.

"What were you thinking about?" He whispered crowding close to Dean and dragging their groins together in a delicious moan.

"C-can't remember," Dean stammered, unable to focus on anything but the sweet drag of their cocks and Castiel's warm breath in his face.

"Well, I can remember what I thought of...all night, lying alone," Castiel murmured and Dean groaned. "And you can probably guess," he breathed. "It involved a certain beautiful man, who I seem to recall had these dazzling green eyes..."

The eyes in question snapped shut and Dean groaned low in his throat.

"Really?" He asked, clutching Castiel closer to him. He felt the man nod against his neck and he moaned again.

"Fuck, Cas you are gonna kill me," he muttered and Castiel smiled against his neck, sucking a patch which was sure to bruise in the morning. "Please," Dean said. Castiel seemed to understand what he was asking for and levered himself up on his arms and took the jar from the pillow. He opened it and Dean’s eyes unable to tear away from Castiel’s long fingers.

"It will feel weird at first," Castiel said quietly, coating his fingers. "And probably burn like a bitch, but just relax and trust me. I'm not going to hurt you, promise." Dean nodded and closed his eyes. His mind shot to memories, hidden in sin, of his own fingers teasing himself open and the thought of Castiel doing the same sent a shudder of desire through his body. Dean opened his legs slightly, kicking away the sheet and Castiel's finger's brushed up his thighs, causing the muscles to twitch and eventually honed in on his hole. Dean tensed slightly as Castiel's finger made its first swirl around the entrance.

"Relax," Castiel breathed into his mouth and kissed him slowly. It took a few moments for Dean's muscles to obey and the tension seeped away, leaving him feeling slightly vulnerable but so very ready.

Castiel continued to tease until Dean protested into his mouth and Castiel pecked him on the lips and obliged, pushing the tip of one finger slowly into Dean, pushing past the entrance.

"Alright?" Castiel asked and Dean nodded. It burned an insistent little burn but wasn't painful, yet.

The next few minutes were spent in a hushed silence, pierced by little moans, breaths and gasps, particularly after Castiel latched onto Dean's nipples while gently opening him and Dean was buried in a conflict of intense pleasure against a side-line of burning pain.

"I think I'm ready," Dean said once he no longer felt any discomfort except for his aching hardness, replaced by the pleasurable tingle of nerves as Castiel's fingers continued to move inside him.

"Yell stop at any time," Castiel said. “And I will.” He removed his hand. Dean felt empty for a fleeting moment until Castiel replaced it with another pressure. Dean tilted his hips obligingly and watched as Castiel, with a look of concentration on his face, pushed forward slightly. Dean felt the breach as it stretched him just a fraction wider than Castiel’s fingers had and he huffed in a gasp. Castiel looked at him but he nodded encouragingly, so he pushed in further. Dean bit his lip as more of Castiel's length entered him and he held his breath. It was just a little off the scale of pleasurable and Dean held up a hand for a moment.

"Give me one second," he said. "To adjust."

Castiel nodded and leaned onto his elbows, his eyes requesting permission for a kiss. Dean pulled Castiel's head down against his lips and kissed him slowly, sweetly, tongues licking against each other until burn eased and was overtaken by Dean’s sudden realisation that, holy shit, Castiel was _inside_ him. Dean nudged Castiel with his nose and he opened his eyes.

"We good?" He asked.

"We're excellent," Dean promised and Castiel grinned and began to push in again, slowly.

"Come on," Dean protested as Castiel stopped, completely inside and he nodded before quickening his thrusts. Dean groaned a stream of incoherent noises through his mouth which Castiel matched as a tiny bead of perspiration appeared on his forehead.

"Fuck, Dean," he said. "You feel so...fuck."

Dean nodded, about to say something along the lines of ‘tell me about it,’ when Castiel circled his hips a little and it dissolved into an unabashed moan instead. He wrapped his legs around Castiel and changed the angle in such a way that had the both of them panting into the other's mouth, and Castiel moved to focus the kiss properly, instead just exchanging air and noise.

Dean felt the heat pool at the base of his spine and curl into his stomach with every thrust bringing a new stab of pleasure and he gripped Castiel's shoulders, probably causing some damage but Castiel didn't seem to notice as his thrusts quickened over the threshold of a steady pace and to a more forceful, erratic rhythm.

Dean reached his hand between them to try and bring some release to his aching dick which had been neglected while he was caught up in the pleasure. Castiel batted his hand away took hold of Dean's length himself and began to stroke, matching the pace of his thrusts exactly.

"Fuck," Dean said for that was all his brain could think at that moment. "I'm gonna..." He warned, unable to hold in the multitude of pleasures that were assaulting him and he came so hard he saw stars behind his eyes, spurting up his chest in a hot gush.

"Shit," he moaned and panted, desperately trying to regain his head which had left him behind in an orgasmic bliss. With a grunt he felt Castiel pulled out and moments later another hot liquid seared his chest and he opened one eye to see Castiel, panting, propped on his arms above him, looking down at the mess on Dean's stomach.

"What was that for?" He asked.

"Sorry...didn't....know....if I had permission...to come inside..." Castiel panted and Dean would have laughed but he was too busy flying on the wave of pleasure.

"Fucking hell, Dean, that was amazing."

Dean nodded in agreement.

"Sorry," Castiel said again, then leaned down, his nose tickling at Dean’s abdomen and licked a long upwards, his tongue flat against Dean's stomach, along the lines that their come had made. Dean’s eyes widened and he watched with fascination until Castiel resurfaced above him with a sheepish look on his face.

"I thought it would be quicker than finding a cloth," he said, as though he needed an explanation. Dean grinned and pulled him by the arms in for a kiss that was both loving but forceful.

"That was fucking incredible," he said, beginning to come down from his high and Castiel nodded, still panting slightly. Dean wiped the hair out of his face.

Castiel collapsed on top of Dean, and intertwined them both in a warm embrace as they recaptured their breath. They lay there, running fingers up and down each other’s bare skin and pressing kisses where their mouths could reach until Castiel rolled off Dean and onto the bed. Dean swiped his hand across his forehead.

“Fuck,” he repeated.

“I know,” Castiel said, mirroring Dean’s position.

Dean turned his head to find Castiel grinning at him, which spread to Dean and they both laughed. Dean rolled onto his side and wrapped his arms around Castiel’s waist and pushed his head into the man’s shoulder. Castiel’s arms came down to pull him in and they lay in silence for a moment.

“I’m real glad you were on this boat, Cas. I don’t know why I deserve this,” Dean muttered into his neck, a small part of him hoping that Castiel wouldn’t hear his hazy confession.

“Likewise,” Castiel replied quietly and kissed the top of Dean’s head. Dean felt his eyes begin to drift closed, he was so comfortable and content…

“I should go,” Castiel said, sounding tired, his fingers twitching on Dean’s arm. It shocked Dean’s eyes open and he turned his head up to look at the man’s face. He couldn’t see his expression properly but heard Castiel sigh resignedly.

“Please stay,” Dean murmured.

“I can’t, Dean,” Castiel replied quietly. “You know that.”

“A few more minutes,” Dean requested.

Castiel was quiet for a moment and Dean tensed slightly, not wanting to let go just yet.

“Okay,” he said almost inaudibly and Dean relaxed, resuming his former position. It wasn’t anywhere near good enough, but if a few minutes were all he was going to get, he was going to make the most of it and he clutched Castiel tightly, willing time to leave them in their bubble of peace. Castiel’s fingers trailed up and down Dean’s arm and smoothed through his hair while Dean pressed kisses into Castiel’s neck and jawline, tanging their legs together in the hope that it would incapacitate him. However, too quickly to have been a few minutes, Castiel twitched again. Dean initially remained deadweight, but resigned when Castiel began to push him and he leaned up on his elbow and looked at Castiel properly.

“I don’t want you to go,” he said, not caring that he sounded like a petulant child.

“I don’t want _to_ go,” Castiel replied and kissed Dean gently on the lips the left their mouths lingering together, unmoving and doing little more than sharing air.

“Soon,” Castiel whispered. “When there’s no-one to know, we’ll wake up together.” His hand found Dean’s again and he squeezed it. Dean nodded and drew back. Castiel had the faintest hint of a smile. He slipped out from underneath Dean and their newly exposed skin erupted in goose bumps and Dean pulled the blanket up around his shoulders, watching Castiel search for his clothes, then fiddle with buttons and laces. Dean’s eyes kept closing, begging him to sleep but Castiel’s kept meeting his and smiled at him to stay awake, a much more compelling arrangement. When Castiel looked more or less the same as he when he’d entered, he leaned over the bed and ruffled Dean’s hair.

“You’re cute you know,” he said as he withdrew his hand and Dean screwed his nose in irritation, making Castiel chuckle, which faltered awkwardly as he stood by the bed. Their eyes met and Dean felt like he should say something, but Castiel beat him to it.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “That I can’t…you know,” he gestured to the bed. Dean nodded.

“It’s fine,” he replied. “I get it.” Only half of it was a lie.

Castiel ran his hand through his hair. “Don’t feel like I’m…loving you and leaving you,” he said looking at the floor before glancing at Dean, who met his gaze and held it.

“I understand,” Dean promised and Castiel nodded, seemingly reassured and turned towards the door. Dean was struck with sadness as his view of Castiel’s mused face and wide eyes was replaced by the back of his head and the movement of his legs away from the bed. Dean didn’t want to stop looking, wanted to let his eyes linger on Castiel for as long as possible but found that he couldn’t watch Castiel leave, so he rolled over and screwed his eyes shut. The action could not block the sound of the door opening and closing, a callous assurance that Dean was alone. He curled up in a ball and fell asleep to the imagining that Castiel’s arms were still slung around his waist and their legs were tangled together as one.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope I'm not overdosing you all on smut, but this chapter contains the last of it! Therefore I believe you will find the second gif here useful in visualising certain events in this chapter...http://therosebrain.tumblr.com/post/50886065491  
> (Not that it isn't already etched onto our minds...)

“What are you doing here?” Dean asked incredulously, Castiel having appeared, a grinning apparition at his doorway. “Aren’t you supposed to be working?”

“If I didn’t know better, I’d say you weren’t happy to see me,” Castiel said, pushing himself from the doorframe. “And I didn’t get to talk to you this morning, so I’m spending my afternoon off with you.”

Dean shook his head. “I wouldn’t have thought you’d done enough work to deserve a day off,” but he moved away from the doorway to allow Castiel to enter.

“I haven’t,” he said cheerfully, facing Dean who shut the door behind them. “But a few choice words with some colleagues and anyone can get time off when they need it.” He grinned.

“And you _needed_ time off?” Dean asked sarcastically, but pulled Castiel close to him by the waist.

“I’ve had a hard morning, Dean,” Castiel said reproachfully. Dean scoffed. “I needed something to cheer me up.” He brought his hands up to Dean’s jaw.

“So you came to me?” Dean said, placing his hand over Castiel’s.  
“Where else would I go?” Castiel murmured and leant in and kissed Dean chastely on the lips. He hummed contentedly. “I’m feeling better already.”  
“Good,” Dean said, stroking his hand up the man’s back and closed his eyes until Castiel drew away.

“I brought my sketchbook,” Castiel informed him and Dean looked down, seeing the book in Castiel’s hand for the first time. It took a moment for the significance to register in Dean’s mind.

“Oh,” he said finally. “ _Ohh._ ”

Castiel smiled at him, a question transcribed on his lips.   
“You wanna do that? Now?” Dean asked, almost regretting the promise he made the night before. It seemed appealing at the time but the thought of lying completely exposed under Castiel’s sharp gaze made him slightly nervous. It wasn’t that he was uncomfortable in his body, but Castiel did have a way of looking at Dean as though he were completely picking him apart and gazing into every hidden fracture Dean had.

“Unless you’ve changed your mind,” Castiel said, bringing his hand down to stroke Dean’s arm. Dean shook his head emphatically.

“No. Let’s do this,” he said. Castiel grinned.

 

~

 

Minutes later and Castiel had arranged a chair to face the couch and he opened onto a new page of his sketch book, poising his pencil above it. It was shaking slightly with his anticipation and he spun it through his fingers, waiting. He’d seen Dean naked yesterday, of course, but there was something different about this promise of trust and acceptance. Dean had gone into the bathroom to remove his clothes, though Castiel had insisted it wasn’t necessary and he waited, tapping his pencil against the page.

Dean emerged, wearing only a blue robe and Castiel’s heart flickered.

“Let’s go,” Dean said, any embarrassment he felt hidden to Castiel and he dropped the robe around his ankles. Had Castiel been able to take his eyes off Dean, he would have seen the shiny fabric pool on the floor.He stood, a marble statue for a moment, and Castiel’s breath caught in his throat. He motioned silently to the couch and Dean complied, arranging himself slowly to lie down, facing Castiel. The pencil shook again.

“Could you bend your knees a little?” he requested. Dean complied easily; the only hint that he was nervous at all was the slight tension in the line of his shoulders.

“Good,” he breathed. “Now, relax, yeah good. And…look at me.” Dean did so, green eyes brazenly seductive, looking up at Castiel through long lashes, mouth slightly parted and Castiel didn’t think he’d ever seen anything so effortlessly beautiful in his life. He shifted slightly in his seat.

There was a moment of silent eye contact between them, an unspoken challenge to see if the other one would speak. Castiel dipped his eyes to the plain paper and adjusted his pencil. Then, carefully, he began to reproduce the sight in front of him, beginning with a permanent arrangement of lines and sweeping on to add soul into the picture, the individual curve of Dean’s body, the expression that he held on his face and the fierce sparkle in his eyes. The room remained in a state of heavy silence, laced with the scratch of the pencil, their breathing as each observed the other and an edge of anticipation.

Finally the silence broke. “This is the first time I’ve seen you blush,” Dean said quietly. Castiel gave an embarrassed affirmative. “One might almost think you’d never drawn a naked man before.”

“Well,” Castiel said, eyes stuck on the page. “Never one quiet this exquisite,”

“Humility suits you,” Dean commented. Castiel rolled his eyes, but then locked them with Dean’s and a long, silent gaze evolved between them and anticipation thrummed under his skin. He finally broke the eye contact and shifted uncomfortably again, refraining from commenting on Dean’s own state of affairs.

Time progressed through slow pencil strokes and Dean’s occasional shift of position. Castiel didn’t make eye contact again until he laid down the last bit of shading with a flourish.

“It’s finished,” he said quietly. He heard Dean breath out a sigh.

“May I see?” Dean asked, pushing himself off his elbow and sitting up slowly. Castiel nodded and joined Dean on the couch, holding the picture in front of the both of them.

Dean said nothing for a few moments and Castiel remained tense, not touching Dean but aching to reach out and run his hands along the smooth expanses that he had been so hotly focused on for far too long without feeling.

“It’s amazing,” Dean breathed finally and Castiel relaxed. “Do I really look like that to you?” he asked, turning to Castiel, theirs faces inches apart.

“Yes,” Castiel whispered, “But a hundred times better.” His breath hitched and he leant in to press his mouth forcefully to Dean’s, who pressed back and their hands reach up simultaneously to cup the other’s faces.

“This isn’t fair,” Dean said, the words muffled by the push of their lips.

“Mmm?” Castiel replied, not wanting to relinquish the contact now that he was finally able to touch and his hands itched to roam over every line he’d drawn and every illustrated curve.

“You’re wearing too many clothes,” Dean said, pulling away. Castiel nodded sympathetically, but made no move to correct the situation, instead slipping the sketch book onto the floor and pushing Dean back on the couch so Castiel could have better access to Dean’s body, which stretched deliciously out in front of him, covered in a thin sheen of sweat. He ran his hands gently over the space he could reach, savouring the softness beneath his finger tips and the gentle sighs Dean made when he touched on a sensitive spot and traced patterns across his torso. Castiel was the luckiest person in the world at that moment, until Dean cupped a hand under his chin and forced him to look up.

“I’ve just had an unfortunate thought,” he said, much to Castiel’s worry.

“What?” Castiel asked, pushing himself further up the couch so their eyes were level.

“It’s the middle of the day. People aren’t sleeping. Someone will hear us.”

Castiel groaned. “I don’t care about other people. I care about having every inch of you to myself.”

Dean hummed appreciatively and leant his head back, inspiring access for Castiel to lick at his throat.

“But seriously,” Dean moaned. “We have to go somewhere else. I have neighbours.” Castiel growled, but stopped his ministrations and knelt upright.

“Who cares what they think?” He asked.

“Seriously, Cas,” Dean said, stroking Castiel’s arm. “People can’t find out about us. Please.”

Castiel considered the repercussions for a moment, particularly from Dean’s point of view and resigned his protests with a nod.

“Is your room anywhere private?” Dean asked hopefully, his eyes fringed with lust.

“Dean, I have three roommates,” Castiel reminded him. He racked his brains for somewhere they could go where they would be uninterrupted.

“The cargo decks,” he came up with finally, his fingers pausing in their strokes up Dean’s arms and shoulders. “No-one has any need to go there.”

Dean shrugged. “It’s not a very romantic setting,” Castiel admitted. “But I don’t fucking care as long as you’re there.” Dean’s Adam’s apple bobbed and Castiel had the urge to kiss it.

“Fine,” Dean said. “Let’s go.”

Castiel reluctantly climbed off the man and stood awkwardly as Dean scouted for his clothes.

“Seems counterproductive to have to get dressed,” Castiel commented as Dean hurriedly did up the buttons on his shirt. Dean grinned at him.

“Don’t worry,” he whispered into Castiel’s ear. “They’ll soon be off again.” Castiel shivered.

 

The walk was longer than Castiel would have liked. He had been given a small tour of the ship upon boarding and remembered vaguely where the cargo decks were. He also remembered that one had to walk through the boiler rooms to reach them, but neglected to tell Dean that fact until they were standing outside the door. Castiel hesitated.

"What?" Dean asked, eyes zoning in on Castiel's hand where it hovered above the handle.

" _Technically_ , _”_ I don't think either of us is supposed to go in here," Castiel said. "But if we just pretended to know what we're doing, hopefully no-one will question us."

"Cas," Dean said, frowning. "What’s in that room?"

"Something you may like, actually," Castiel promised and pushed the door open. A wall of heat and noise hit them as they intruded on the scene. Huge grinding machines bellowed out steam and shouts could just be heard above the racket.

"The boiler room?" Dean said, shaking his head. "Seriously? We are screwed if we get caught."

"Follow my lead," Castiel said, confidently. Truth was he had no lead for Dean to follow, other than walking calmly through the rooms without making eye contact. Dean was rightly unconvinced and they had barely taken a few paces before they were interrupted.

"Hey, what are you two doing down here?" A man yelled as they casually walked in front of him. Castiel opened his mouth to say something, which probably wouldn't have made much sense when Dean slid in.

"Afternoon. I'm Dean Winchester, sir, of Winchester and Sons. We sponsored the creation of this vessel and I requested this crewman here to take me on a tour to see how our money was spent, if that's alright with you?" The man's eyes remained narrowed for a moment before he relaxed and shrugged.

"Be quick, mind," he said. "'S dangerous being down here."

"I believe I am in competent hands," Dean assured, gesturing towards Castiel who's mouth was hanging open. He shook himself and nodded a smile to the man, who wished them well and walked away.

"What the hell was that?" Castiel asked scurrying after Dean who'd taken off at a stride. "I thought we were done for."

Dean smiled mysteriously. "Lying comes in useful in my line of work."

Castiel sighed, masking the fact he was impressed. Dean kept pointing out bits of machinery, obviously interested in their workings but none of it meant anything to Castiel.

"You're more interested in this crap than in me, aren't you?" He teased, though he did want to remind Dean of the real purpose of their detour. Dean laughed and patted him on the shoulder.

"Don't worry," he muttered. "I'd much rather be admiring you."

That spurred Castiel on and they reached the exit quickly.

The door swung open before them and Castiel breathed a small victory sigh.

They’d stumbled upon the huge car deck.   
“Perfect,” Castiel said, closing the door behind them.

“Huh?” Dean said, surveying the room with an astounded sweep of his eyes.  Castiel would have cursed Dean’s interest in vehicles had it not been so appealing to watch his eyes widen.

“Well, no-one will come down here,” he justified. “There’s no use for cars on a ship.” Dean nodded, still quiet. “And besides, I’m sure you won’t be the first person to be seduced in the back of a car.”

Dean rolled his eyes.

“So we’re gonna break into someone’s car and have sex in it?”

“That was the idea,” Castiel said, shrugging. “It’s either that or the floor.”

“You’re crazy,” Dean announced.

“Crazy about you,” Castiel countered, raising his eyebrows and Dean groaned.

“That was about the cheesies-oh!” Dean was interrupted as Castiel pulled him in and brought their mouths together and Dean’s protests turned into a quiet moan as their ache for contact was finally dulled and replaced by an insistent spark of desire.

“Consider me seduced,” Dean said and grabbed Castiel by the wrist and led him to the nearest car, which Castiel was sure he would have appreciated had his mind been able to focus on anything except the idea of Dean naked beneath him. Dean opened the door and offered Castiel to slide into the back seat. Dean followed him and closed the door.

“Now,” he said, positioning himself above Castiel, who reached up to remove Dean’s shirt. “Where were we?”

“I believe you were naked,” Castiel prompted, sliding his hands around Dean’s waist as the fabric opened to reveal the plane of his chest and Castiel sighed contentedly.

“And I believe I was about to _get_ you naked,” Dean countered, kneeling up to slip away shirt then leant back down on top of Castiel, pushing their hips together in a delicious thrust. Castiel had spent too long looking without being able to touch and ran his hands over the expanse of Dean’s back, trying to map the body above him, and ran his fingers along Dean’s spine, causing him to moan and buck his hips forward again, drawing out Castiel’s own gasp and he surged up to capture Dean’s lips again in a sweet, hot drag of tongues. Castiel’s shirt disappeared and in an instant gratifying moment, their bare torsos were pressed completely together, their skin slightly damp with sweat and their heat pooling together, their harsh breathing beginning to fog up the windows.

“Fuck,” Dean muttered, grinding shamelessly into Castiel, who moaned into Dean’s mouth wantonly.

“I’ve never been so turned on...than when you were drawing me,” he panted. “I could tell you wanted to come touch me...” Dean panted and Castiel moaned in agreement.

“You’re a tease, you know that?” Castiel breathed. “You know how sexy you looked…what you were doing to me…” Dean nodded, and kissed Castiel up against the leather seats, which were sticking uncomfortably but he didn’t care, so long as Dean was moving on top of him. He reached a hand up and planted it in the middle of Dean’s chest, feeling his hastened heartbeat pumping through his body. Dean’s hand paved a trail down Castiel’s chest and lower until it skirted around the buttons on his pants. Castiel followed his lead and they divulged each other of all clothes, not an easy task for two tall men in the back of a car but the moment they were naked, Castiel reached out and pulled Dean close again, revelling in the contact and the barrier-free press of warm bodies. Dean nuzzled into Castiel’s neck and he bit back another moan before releasing it when Dean began to suck a patch close to his shoulder. He pulled away with an obscene smack and stroked the area and Castiel squirmed under his delicate touch.

“I want you so bad,” Dean groaned and Castiel gripped his shoulder and looked him in the eye.

“Then what are you waiting for?” he said, fumbling for his pants to find the jar in his pocket and handed it to Dean.

“You want me to prepare myself?” Dean asked quietly, teasing Castiel’s torso with the cold glass, erupting lines of goose bumps all over his skin despite the murky heat of the car.

“No,” Castiel whispered. “I want you to prepare me.”

Dean’s eyes widened for a moment.

“You sure?” he asked, kneeling back and tracing a finger along Castiel’s inner thigh. He nodded.

“Nothing would delight me more than having you inside me,” Castiel promised and Dean moaned.

“Fuck. Fuck. Okay then,” he said, fumbling with the jar. Castiel adjusted himself slightly and Dean leaned down to kiss Castiel gently as his first cool finger teased at Castiel’s entrance. He sighed contentedly as Dean licked into his mouth and began to open him up. Castiel pulled him in close and refused to release Dean’s mouth from their kisses which got deeper and louder on Castiel’s part as Dean opened him and slowly, too slowly added more fingers.

“You’re not going to break me, you know,” Castiel finally broke their lips apart and looked into Dean’s, which he expected were a perfect mirror of his own wide pupils and glassy sheen. “I have done this before.”

“I know,” Dean said, dipping down to breath against Castiel’s ear. “But I’m enjoying watching you squirm,” he said, stroking a particularly sensitive spot inside Castiel as if to illustrate his point.

“What happened to blushing innocent Dean?” Castiel groaned as Dean licked his neck, “I liked him better.”

“Only because you’re a control freak,” Dean said languidly into Castiel’s neck. “But I believe he’s currently three fingers deep inside you.”

Castiel hummed his approval and ran his hands along Dean’s warm torso, pausing to press both of his thumbs to Dean’s nipples and rub them gently and they were both moaning against the leather.

“Dean,” Castiel panted. “I’m ready.” Dean drew back from where he was nibbling Castiel’s throat and looked at him.   
“Sure?” he confirmed. Castiel nodded again.

Then, in a movement that made Dean gasp, Castiel swung them both upright and positioned himself in the man’s lap. Dean raised his eyebrows and Castiel shrugged.

“Couldn’t let you get too comfortable,” he said, leaning down to kiss Dean’s nose and pushing their groins together.

“I’m very comfortable,” Dean murmured into Castiel’s neck and he felt Dean smile against his skin, drawing a shudder down his spine.

“You ready?” he asked and Dean hummed in approval, anticipation mounting in the hard grasp of his fingers on Castiel’s hipbones. He gently lined Dean up and sunk down slowly and they both let out a moan.

“Fuck,” Dean groaned, stilling for a moment to allow Castiel to adjust before he started to move. Dean tilted his head up to Castiel and kissed him deep as Castiel moved his hips, sinking onto Dean until both of them were groaning and their shoulders heaved together, sucking in the hot air of the vehicle.

“Fuck, Dean,” Castiel panted. “You feel amazing.”  Dean closed his eyes and mouthed at Castiel’s jaw and they both fell quiet, save for their shared moans as Castiel gripped Dean’s shoulders and tilted his head back and Dean breathed against his exposed neck, murmuring sweet nothings and running his hands up and down Castiel’s back before settling once more on his hip bones. Castiel sped up slightly as he felt Dean’s grip tighten.

Dean’s hands moved up to Castiel’s waist and in a forceful but gentle motion he swung Castiel down so his back was pressed against the leather seat and Dean repositioned himself on top of him, nuzzling into his neck and pressing further inside Castiel before he could form a protest.

“Fuck,” Castiel said inanely. “What?” He wrapped his legs around Dean’s back and pushed him down so their bodies were completely flush.

“Couldn’t let you do all the work, could I?” Dean panted against Castiel’s mouth and Castiel moaned as Dean quickened his thrusts, slamming his hand against the window to gain more leverage. Castiel’s own hand released its grip on Dean’s shoulder and moved indulgently downwards to his neglected dick and let out a groan as he relieved some of the pressure. It took Dean but a moment to notice the movement, then he covered Castiel’s hand with his own, both of them working as Dean’s thrusts became harder but more erratic before he let out a strangled “I’m gonna fucking…”

“Come in me, Dean,” Castiel said, moving Dean’s chin so he could see the thin green irises of his eyes. Dean came with a choked groan that may have been Castiel’s name and he made a face that Castiel would keep in his memories for a long time, nose screwed up and head ducked and Castiel felt the tension that had been running through Dean’s muscles dissolve as his arms began to shake with the effort of holding himself up. A couple more strokes and Castiel felt the detonation inside him flare and he screwed his own eyes closed.

Dean collapsed on top of him, wrapping his arms around Castiel and breathing wordlessly against the side of his face. It took a moment for Castiel to return from heaven and wrap his own arms around the warm mass of human that had draped itself on top of him.

“That was fucking amazing,” Dean mumbled almost incoherently and Castiel smiled, closing his eyes to contented bliss.

“We fogged up all the windows,” he murmured.

“Good,” Dean said and Castiel wasn’t sure if he’d actually heard.

“Your’mazing,” he slurred.

“As are you,” Castiel replied and they lay there intertwined for a moment, the weight of Dean’s body slowly growing heavier and Castiel would have been content to lie in that moment forever.

“Dean, we can’t fall asleep here,” he said.

“Why not?” he protested he said indistinctly.

“Because as much as I love having you on top of me, it’s cramped and leather and naked skin does not mix well together.”

“Hmm,” Dean acknowledged and there was a momental delay before he reluctantly pushed himself up.

“Reminds me of my car at home,” Dean mused, patting at the seat and Castiel shuffled upright to match his position. “She’s a chevvy…absolutely gorgeous.”

Dean laughed.

“What?” Castiel said.

“I promised you I would show you the inside of a car one day,” he said. “Though I wasn’t expecting to fulfil it quite like this.” Castiel grinned.

“You’ll have to take me for a ride in yours one day,” he said and they turned to face each other.

“What kind of ride?” Dean said and winked.

“Oh, any,” Castiel said nonchalantly and Dean’s hand moved up to cup Castiel’s face and drew him in for a gentle kiss, tongues licking with gentle exploration and lips almost protesting from overwork. Castiel was the first to shiver, not having noticed how cold it was until they were no longer tangled together.

“Cold?” Dean said, rubbing his hand up Castiel’s arm. Castiel hummed confirmation and tore his eyes away from Dean’s face to retrieve his clothes.

“Do you want a, uh…” Dean began, dangling a handkerchief in front of Castiel and gesture to his abdomen. Castiel had forgotten about the streaks on his stomach and snatched at the handkerchief, embarrassed and wiped at his front.

“Next time I’ll clean it off for you,” Dean whispered low in his ear and dragged his tongue around the shell. Castiel let out a huff of interest and leant down to pick up his pants. It turned out that putting clothes on in a car was even more difficult than taking them off and both were laughing slightly as they slipped out of the backseat, then laughed harder when they noticed Dean’s handprint had remained emblazoned the window.

“Leave it there,” Dean suggested and Castiel shrugged an agreement.

“Where to now?” he asked.

“Anywhere, so long as it’s with you,” Dean said and Castiel smiled. Dean turned to him. “To the stars,” he said flippantly and took Castiel’s hand in his.

“Deal,” Castiel said and shook his head at how ridiculous it sounded but he couldn’t keep the smile from his face. They walked away, hands intertwined.

 

~~~

                                                                                                                               

The sky’s persistent blue had faded into the gentle gray of the period in which the sun still sits above the horizon, delaying the stars in taking up their positions and a few clouds dotted the view like splatters of paint. “This has rather become our spot, hasn’t it,” Castiel commented, gesturing to the handrails which they leaned on once again.

“It’s the best spot on the ship,” Dean proclaimed, accepting the cigarette that Castiel handed to him. They said nothing for a while, content to stand in silence. Dean looked down at the calm waters below, marred by his trail of white smoke. It looked so cold and uninviting and he wondered what it would feel like to dive in.

“Do you want to know a secret?” He said, shaking his head but smiling.  Castiel looked at him sideways, brows furrowed in confusion.

“Sure,” he said. “Unless it’s that you’re a serial killer or something.” Dean laughed for a long time, until Castiel’s face broke into a smile as well. He looked down again, not wanting to meet Castiel’s eyes.

 “I can’t swim,” he admitted.

“What? You can’t _swim_?” Castiel said as if it was the most ridiculous thing he’d ever heard.

“Well. My father wasn’t exactly the type to take us to the swimming baths for a splash around,” Dean said, billowing smoke across the water.

Castiel hummed understandingly then laughed a little.

“Dean, you continue to surprise me every day,” he announced.

“You’ve only known me 4 days!” Dean reminded him, laughing.

“Really?” Castiel said incredulously, turning his head to face Dean. “Feels like longer.” His eyes looked upwards for a moment and his fingers twitched as he counted up to four slowly.

Dean hummed in agreement, turning the idea over in his mind. It was sobering and he could almost hear the cogs in Castiel’s brain turning over the same thing.

“Do you,” Dean began and faltered. He wasn’t sure how to phrase his thoughts. “Do you think we’ve rushed into this?” he finished quietly, unable to look at Castiel, instead focussing on the clouds in the middle distance.

Castiel took a drag of his cigarette and was silent for a moment.

“Do you know what I thought, when I first saw you?” he asked. Dean gave no answer and Castiel began to speak again, slowly, as if he was organising his thoughts as he spoke.

“I thought you looked uncomfortable as hell, like you wanted to be anywhere else in the world but on this boat. And it made me wonder why; why you were here and what your story was.”

Dean didn’t say anything in the pause, waiting for Castiel to continue. He felt he needed to hear this.

“And there you sat,” Castiel restarted. “Looking all interesting and adorable and completely untouchable. But then I met you outside and you were just what I expected, but at the same time, completely different. I wanted to learn everything about you, to explore the ways we were so similar and so not.”

Dean nodded.

“I’ve never really paid much attention to people, Dean. They’re not _interesting._ They’re all the same – except you.” Dean stole a glance to his right and saw Castiel’s brow furrowed, as if these words were difficult for him to say, so Dean clung to them tighter.

“You called like a strange beacon, and like an innocent moth I followed you. And I can never regret that because these few days have been…amazing.”

Dean swallowed thickly.

“And that’s why I don’t think we rushed in, Dean,” Castiel said, finally turning to him, the look in his eyes completely overwhelming. “Because when something like that comes along, you don’t just ignore it because you never know how much time you’ve got left or if you’ll ever find something like it again. I think we were _meant_ to meet each other.”

“I don’t believe in fate,” Dean said quietly. “I think we make our own paths. And I’m glad my path led to you.”

Castiel nodded then reached out and squeezed Dean’s shoulder. Neither of them said anything else after that. Dean, certainly, had reached the limit of his verbal emotions and Castiel took up a ponderous look which Dean imitated silently, both of them staring separately at the landscape in front of them, but seeing the same thing.

Time passed and they watched the sun set slowly over the water and a beautiful pink glow started to web its way across the sky, reaching out its rosy fingers to every corner of the picture from the central sun which slowly dimmed as it neared the waterline.   
“Beautiful,” Castiel whispered and Dean smiled.

“Castiel?” a smart British accent interrupted them and Dean glanced towards Castiel to see his eyes had widened and his knuckles had gone white against the rail. He turned around slowly and Dean followed his lead to face a blond man that he vaguely recognised from around the ship but couldn’t place.

“Balthazar,” Castiel said in a voice fringed with tension and Dean’s eyes flitted between the two of them as Castiel postured slightly and the other man retained a smile that didn’t reach his eyes. Dean vaguely remembered Castiel mentioning Balthazar to be his boss .The blond slowly turned to Dean.

“I am so sorry, sir,” he said. “Was this man bothering you?”

Dean shook his head but the man had already turned away.

“Castiel has been _warned_ that he is not supposed to harass passengers but _apparently_ feels he is too good to follow orders.”

“He’s not harassing me,” Dean said, not understanding. Castiel hadn’t said anything about being warned.

“Castiel, come with me now before you tarnish yourself further with this unprofessionalism,” his voice growing tighter as the sentence ended and Dean felt a rise of irritation brew inside him.

“Hey, excuse me,” he said, clenching his fists in his pockets and taking a step forward. “He’s done nothing wrong. I _asked_ him to spend time with me.” It wasn’t a lie but did little to mask the guilt that swept through Dean. Castiel was in trouble because of him. Balthazar didn’t even look at Dean.

“Come on, Cas,” he said, motioning the man closer. “Come with me now and there won’t be any more trouble.”

“Hey, back off!” Dean protested again and Balthazar turned to him, a false smile plastered on his face.

“I apologise for interrupting you, but I suggest you allow me to do my job before Castiel gets in any further trouble for _not doing his._ ”

Dean looked at Castiel and watched his face twitch as he weighed the options.  
“It’ll be fine, Dean,” Castiel whispered. Dean’s arm twitched forwards, wanting to grab Castiel and hold him, but Balthazar’s cool stare arrested the movement and he watched as Castiel gave a resigned sigh, tossed his cigarette and walked forwards to Balthazar.

“Come on,” Dean said, voice raised. “This is ridiculous. He’s done nothing wrong!”

Balthazar smiled at him.

“Enjoy the rest of your evening,” he said and turned away. Dean clenched his fist and looked at Castiel, who shrugged.

“Goodbye, Dean,” he said. “See you soon I’m sure.” He saw Balthazar’s shoulders tense and Castiel turned away with a smile that was nothing like his normal amused expression. The trio stood awkwardly for a moment before Balthazar took Castiel’s elbow and Castiel gave Dean a final glance before walking away.

“Bye,” Dean whispered and watched the pair leave with an ache in his chest. There was nothing he could do without causing a scene, and even though Castiel clearly hadn’t been harassing him, Dean realised with a jolt that Castiel had skipped work that afternoon to be with him.

“Fuck,” he muttered and turned around to watch the sea again and ran a hand over his face. Castiel was in trouble and it was completely his fault. He slammed a hand on the rail and groaned. He stayed in that position for a few moments but the evening felt wrong without Castiel. The stars didn’t hold as much interest and the sea lost its appeal. He wanted to go _home._ God, he wanted to get home and free him and Castiel from this sort of bullshit. Instead, he had to settle for the nearest thing and retired to his cabin. He undressed slowly, irritated with himself. The ugly vase glared tauntingly at him and he picked it up and hurled it against the wall where it made a huge clatter and rolled, cracked, across the floor. Dean froze for a moment but no one came to investigate, so he flopped wearily into bed where he spent the rest of the night wrapped up in contemplative guilt, wishing he wasn’t alone. Balthazar couldn’t separate them forever, he reasoned on the verge of sleep, but now that he no longer had the option of seeing Castiel at the drop of a hat, every minute seemed like forever. The thought made him uneasy.

 

 


	8. Chapter 8

Dean awoke tangled in his sheets and with a feeling of dread in his stomach. He couldn’t place it for a moment, mind humming as it tried to sort consciousness from dreams. It hit him like an iron fist and he rubbed his hand across his closed eyes.

Castiel was in trouble. Castiel was in trouble because of Dean. Guilt remerged and suddenly the bed felt like a prison and he untangled himself hastily and leapt up. He’d had a night’s sleep in a comfortable bed while Castiel had probably been getting shit from Balthazar. Dean groaned and ran his hands over his eyes again. He’d spent too long last night tossing and turning and contemplating what the possible punishment could be. Skipping work would be enough to get him fired. And that was entirely on Dean’s head. He had to do something. He needed to find Castiel and apologise, he needed to find Balthazar and explain that Castiel had done nothing wrong. He bit his lip and glanced at the clock. He’d slept in after a troubled sleep and breakfast would be nearly over. His first port of call needed to be the dining room to check if Castiel had been allowed to keep his job. A small part of Dean saw this as a viable possibility but the rational part that witnessed the anger in Balthazar’s voice knew that it was a futile hope. Still, he dressed at record speed and half jogged to the dining room. He saw instantly when he arrived that Castiel was not there, but he waited for a moment to see if he would come sweeping, bowls ablazing from the kitchen. He waved away the steward that tried to seat him for a few swings of the doors, but gave in. None of the waiters were Castiel. The guilt weighed in Dean’s stomach and he couldn’t eat. He changed his tactic and attempted to catch the attention of the Gabriel in case he knew something, but Gabriel seemed wired to ignore Dean completely and he was asked by a different waiter if he would please leave, seeing as his plate was empty. Irritated, he shoved his chair out and marched away, not sure where he was going until he arrived on the deck, outside air the coldest it had been so far on the journey. Dean thrust his hands into his pockets. He deliberately walked to the starboard side, where he and Castiel had never stood and looked at the sea.

He was at a loss, but, like his father had always drummed into his head, trying was better than doing nothing. He could just give up and wait for the boat to arrive in New York and try to reconvene with Castiel once they disembarked but the situation was his own fault and he needed to fix his mess. He’d find Castiel, talk to Balthazar and smooth the whole situation out. It couldn’t be too hard.

 

**~~~~~~~~~**

“Rise and shine, cupcake,” a dusky British voice said, upon bursting into the room where Castiel had slept. He was sitting up on the bed, fully clothed and waiting for someone to come and get him. He scowled at the black haired man. He’d been awake for two hours already and was in no mood to shine. The man gestured for Castiel to leave the room, which had four beds in but only one occupant, presumably because Castiel was too dangerous to allow anywhere near any of the other crew in case he corrupt them with his criminal desires or whatever twisted logic Balthazar employed. He made a show of standing up slowly and the man tapped his foot, eyes never leaving Castiel’s.

“Follow me,” he commanded and Castiel dragged his feet along behind him, smoothing down his crumpled clothes which he’d had no chance to change and, if he sniffed hard enough, smelt slightly of Dean.

“Do you know who I am?” the man demanded. Castiel shook his head, uselessly as he was walking behind the questioner, but the man continued anyway.

“I’m Crowley,” he announced like it was supposed to be impressive. “And I make sure everything aboard this ship runs smoothly. Balthazar may think he’s in charge, but don’t let that fool you. He’s accountable to me. Which means you are, too.” He smiled as he stopped and gestured towards a door. “Ladies first.”

Castiel didn’t bother to react to the provocation and opened the door. Inside was a small office, dominated by a large wooden desk in the centre, surrounded by a miscellany of papers.

“Please sit,” Crowley said and Castiel took the chair nearest the door facing the back wall and tiny porthole welded into it.

“Now, Cas,” Crowley said as he lowered himself into his chair and Castiel cringed at the nickname. “Balthazar tells me you’ve been doing some things that you shouldn’t have been.”

Castiel remained expressionless. “I’m not a naughty schoolchild,” he said flatly, unimpressed by Crowley’s attempts to belittle him.

“You may as well be,” Crowley said, raising and eyebrow and reached for a pen. Castiel said nothing.

“Why don’t we start with issue number one, ey?” the man. Castiel didn’t reply. “Which is where were you yesterday afternoon that was so much more important than doing your job?”

Castiel shrugged.

“Took an afternoon’s leave.” There was no point in lying now.

“And who granted you that leave?”

“I did.”

“You granted yourself leave?”

Castiel nodded.

Crowley leaned forward on the desk, eyebrows knotted.

“Cas, can you imagine the sort of chaos it would cause if everyone decided their own holidays?” he said in a low voice.

“Horrendous, I would imagine,” Castiel agreed. “Which is why I made sure someone was covering me.”

“So you forced some other poor bastards to take your place while you swanned off on a leisure tour of the ship?” he surmised, jotting something on his paper.

“That would appear to be the situation,” Castiel said and shrugged. Crowley’s jaw twitched.

“Well,” Crowley said and leant back, clasping his hands. “You probably realise that’s enough to get you fired.”

“So fire me,” Castiel suggested. Crowley raised his eyes heavenwards.

“We are, idiot,” he said and Castiel felt only a twinge of regret. He’d never been fired before.

“Which brings me to our second problem,” he announced. “The curious case of Dean Winchester.”

Castiel clenched his fists under the table. “He’s nothing to do with this,” he defended.

“On the contrary. He has everything to do with this,” Crowley said, leaning back and lighting a cigarette, puffing the smoke across the room. “Balthazar informs me that he warned you, just the day before your…apprehension, that passengers are clients, not friends.” Castiel nodded.

“So, pardon me if I’m missing something,” Crowley said, taking another drag, “But you seem to have completely ignored the warning and continued fraternizing with Mr. Winchester anyway.”

“Is that relevant?” Castiel said shortly. “You’ve fired me, what more do you want?”

“Do you really think a reputable gentleman like that wanted _your_ company?” he said, flicking ash onto the floor. Castiel gripped the arms of his chair. “Perhaps I should go and ask him.”

“Leave him out of this.”

“Cas, Cas, Cas,” Crowley said, shifting to face Castiel again. “I have no desire to bring him into this.”

“You have no evidence I was behaved inappropriately,” Castiel said, gritting his teeth.

“That’s where you’re wrong,” Crowley said, smiling. “The walls have ears, you know. And eyes.”

Castiel waited for him to continue.

“Castiel, are you aware that homosexuality is illegal?” Crowley crooned, leaning his elbows on the table.

“ _Excuse me?_ ” Castiel said, too defensively and Crowley smiled.

“Interesting,” he said, turning his head to billow out smoke. Fuck. He’d been testing Castiel and he’d failed. “Yes, that makes things very interesting… for you and Mr Winchester. Unfortunately there’s nothing I can do about him,” he said but Castiel’s shoulders remained tense. “However, I think it’s fair to say that you should not be allowed to mingle with any of the decent passengers and crew of this vessel.”

“So you’re going to keep me down here,” Castiel stated, folding his hands in his lap. Crowley nodded.

“You can’t keep me locked up forever. When we reach New York in three days you’ll have to let me go.”

“Two days, actually. Captain has put her to maximum power so we arrive early.”

Castiel shrugged. “I’ll reconvene with Dean when we land. You can’t stop me.”

“I could contact the police,” Crowley reminded him and Castiel swallowed.

“Do you really want to do that? Tamper the reputation of your company and the maiden voyage of this ship with a homosexual scandal?”

Crowley smiled.

“No,” he said. “Of course I don’t. And I’m not going to.”

Castiel nodded, triumphant.

“That is, unless either of you do anything stupid,” Crowley continued. “You’re lucky I know one or two things about sinners and care about the integrity of this company.”

Castiel nodded again.

“Seems fair,” he said and held out a hand. Crowley ignored it and it dropped to the desk. He finished his cigarette in silence then stubbed it out on the table.

“Now, boy, can you write?”

“Of course I can _write_!” Castiel ejected. 

“Well, then. Might as well make you useful,” Crowley said and handed him a pen. “I have some letters to send upon my return. Now copy this down….”  
Crowley’s voice droned on and Castiel diligently wrote down his words. It wasn’t ideal. He’d been fired and was going to have to spend the rest of his journey under lock, but it was going to take either a stupid mistake or a terrific disaster to prevent him reuniting with Dean in New York.

 

**~~~~~~~**

Several tedious hours after Dean had awoken and Castiel had not been present at lunch, his desire to know what was happening over powered his discretion and he had marched through the mental map in his mind and rapped on the door of Castiel’s dormitory, which Castiel had pointed out to him on their way to the party just days ago.

There was a grunt from within and it was difficult to discern if the noise was hostile or welcoming, but Dean gambled with the importance of the situation, pushed the door open and stepped inside.

Gabriel was lying on one of the bunks, reading. He raised an eyebrow at Dean but made no movement. Dean cleared his throat nervously as a void of disappointment looped in his chest.

“Have you seen Castiel Novak around?” he said, the time for formalities being far distant.

The man raised his other eyebrow but did not look up from his book. “Who’s asking?” he said.

“Winchester,” Dean supplied, not taking any further steps towards the bed.

“Well, Mr Winchester,” the man replied, finally looking up, “Castiel Novak is not here.”

Dean shifted his weight on his feet, not breaking eye contact.

“You know where he is?” he asked.

The man cocked his head and cast his eyes back towards the words on the page. “Nope. Didn’t come in last night. Rumour says he’s in some sort of trouble.”

Dean nodded pointlessly. The man’s eyes stared at the page but did not move. Dean began to take a step backwards but was interrupted.

“Don’t get many of your lot down here,” he commented. Dean shrugged again, uselessly as the man was still looking down.

“What you want old Cas for?” he asked and Dean bristled.

“None of your business,” he said stoutly and turned to leave.

“Alright, calm down. Didn’t mean to pry,” the man said behind Dean. There wasn’t much of an apology laced in the words, but he no longer sounded accusatory. Dean reached a hand towards the door knob, feeling he’d outstayed his welcome. He turned back for a final glance at Gabriel, who had finally focused his attention on Dean and was studying him. Dean raised an eyebrow.

“It’s you, isn’t it,” the man said softly. Dean’s heart jumped, hand still outstretched.

“What do you mean?” Dean said, irritated.

“Those late nights. The reason he’s in trouble.” Dean didn’t say anything. “The reason he smiles too much.” Dean’s hand clenched into a fist.

He didn’t look the man in the eye but said “Is that a problem?”

“No,” the man said shortly.

“Good,” Dean grunted, turning his head back and latching onto the door knob.

“He’s a good kid.” The man said quietly. “And I’m sure you are too.” Dean blinked. “Don’t do anything stupid, either of you,” he continued.

“Bit late for that,” Dean muttered, fingers clenched around the metal handle.

There was an awkward pause in which Dean’s hand remained poised to move and the air stilled. Gabriel sighed loudly.

“I’d suggest talking to Crowley,” he said like he’d given away a state secret. “He’s in charge of personnel and that. He’ll know what’s happening.”

“And where can I find this Crowley?”

“His office is on Deck E. He’s usually hanging around there. Black hair. Looks like a big bag of dicks.”

“Thanks,” Dean nodded and Gabriel shrugged.

“Hey, Cas is my friend too. I’m as curious as you. Beware of Crowley though, he’s a tricky devil.” Dean nodded again.

“Thank you for your help,” he said. “And if he comes…” Dean began. “If you see him…say I was lookin’ for him. Or somethin’.”

“Sure thing,” came the reply, much cheerier, as if nothing but pleasantries had passed between them. Dean made a final grunt before pulling the door towards him and left slowly. He searched momentarily for a sign to signal which deck he was on then headed for the stairs and descended. The place was deserted; a long hall stretched out both ways and none of the doors had any hint as to what lay behind them. Dean tossed a mental coin and it ushered him left, towards the centre of the ship.  
A man appeared from a door in front of Dean.

“Hey!” Dean called, jogging after the black-haired man. “Hey, excuse me.”

The man turned around with a bored look and looked Dean up and down.

“Yes?” He said wearily as though Dean’s presence caused him great boredom.

“Hey,” Dean caught up and grinded to halt just in front of the man, who took a step backwards.

“Do you know where I can find a ‘Crowley’?” He asked as good naturedly as the man’s expression would allow.

“You’re looking at him,” the man replied flatly.

“Great,” Dean said and smoothed a hand down the back of his head. “Can I talk to you?”

“You already are,” Crowley said, again with no expression. Dean shifted on his heels and straightened himself up. Gabriel was right about this guy.

“Do you know a Castiel Novak?” He asked, not breaking eye contact.

“Who’s asking?” the man said, his eyebrows twitching.

“Winchester,” he said shortly and the side of Crowley’s mouth twisted into a smile.

“Well, Winchester, our dear Cas has been relieved of his duties,” he said. Dean clenched his jaw. Fuck. Castiel was going to be pissed, or at least he should be.

“Right, now see, that’s what I wanted to talk about,” Dean said, spreading his palms towards the ceiling and smiling though it was the last thing his mouth wanted to do. “See, this whole thing has been a misunderstanding and is completely my fault.” Crowley raised an eyebrow but Dean didn’t take it as a signal to stop.

“See, I _wanted_ his company. It was nothing to do with him. He wasn’t, uh, harassing me or whatever you lot seem to think. And he took the afternoon off because of me, not because he, I don’t know, wanted to go slack off. So it would only be fair if you let him off and gave him his job back.” He ended with the winning smile that sealed business deals all over America. Crowley listened with a bored expression to his tirade and put a hand in his pocket and checked his watch. Dean raised his eyebrows, waiting for an answer.

“Look, Winchester,” he said. “The responsibility lies with the employee, not the passenger. Castiel has done more than enough to get him fired and it would be much better for the both of you if you _left this alone_.”

“But,” Dean began to protest but Crowley held up a hand to silence him.

“So don’t start on some heroic adventure to go find him or try and convince me to let him go back to waiting tables. If you _really_ want his company again then you can wait until we arrive in New York.”

“Where have you got him?” Dean said. Crowley made it sound as though he was in _prison._

“We’re keeping him under supervision,” Crowley assured.

“You’ve locked him up.” Dean said flatly and Crowley’s frustrated expression told it all.

“He’s not ‘locked up’,” he said. “We don’t have any proof he’s done anything _illegal,_ so we can’t arrest him.”

“ _Proof?_ ” Dean said, unable to keep control of his own volume. “Why on earth do you think he’d do something illegal?”

“Now listen,” Crowley said, anger finally dripping into his voice. “I don’t care what disgusting things you two get up to in the dark, but-“

“ _Whoa_ , w _hat are you insinuating?_ ” Dean yelled, fury boiling in his fists.

“But,” Crowley continued calmly, “I do care about my reputation and that of this company. So if you run along, go and be waited on by someone else and reconvene with Castiel when the voyage is over, then your secret’s safe with me.” He held up a hand again to silence Dean, who was frothing with rage.

“But, if you cause any more trouble, I’m contacting the police the _moment_ we reach New York.”

Dean’s eyes stared in unblinking amazement at the man’s smug expression. He’d backed Dean into a corner and he knew it.

“Why the hell would you even _think_ that?” Dean shouted, a last attempt at cleaning his record.

“Your darling Cas is not a very good liar,” Crowley said and Dean’s anger boiled over and he pushed into Crowley, crowding him against the wall.  
“Listen here, you bastard, Cas and I are _friends,_ ” he said through gritted teeth, unable to comprehend what had just happened.

“Look, squirrel, if you and Cas were _just friends_ then you wouldn’t have your hand around my throat.”

Dean looked down and sure enough, his fist had clenched of its own accord around Crowley’s neck. He snapped it back towards himself and Crowley adjusted his tie but looked little more than disgruntled.

“I said no more trouble, or you’re both under arrest and I’m adding assault to your list of charges,” Crowley hissed. “Do we have a deal?” He narrowed his eyes. Dean nodded, his jaw clenched. Crowley straightened up and brushed the front of his shirt.

“Good,” he said cheerily. “So glad we could have this chat.” Dean was forced to withdraw and allow Crowley to leave and he tipped his imaginary hat as he walked away.  
“Nice doing business with you,” he called. Dean watched him leave, anger pulsing inside him and he turned around and punched the wall in frustration then grimaced as he withdrew it and massaged it with his other hand.

There wasn’t any point looking for Castiel. He didn’t even know where to start and even if he did, if Crowley found out he was fucked. Whatever Crowley’s problem was, his threats had worked. Dean didn’t even want to imagine what would happen if the police were called. Sam’s confused face sprung in him mind, and John’s… Dean couldn’t bear to think what John’s reaction would be if Dean was arrested, let alone for something like this. His shoulders slumped in despair, and he walked away from the scene with his hands thrust in his pockets. He knew when he was beaten.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You all know what's coming next....


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The moment we've all been waiting for. These next two chapters really go together, but I split them up because it was very long.

Too many tense hours later found Dean on deck, this time in he and Castiel’s usual spot, staring unseeing at the sky. Dean closed his eyes and he could almost feel Castiel’s elbows brushing against his as he rambled on about something intelligent that Dean may have understood if he wasn’t absorbed in the rhythm of Castiel’s voice as it rose and fell across the water. It was odd how quickly they’d fallen into step with each other. The stars were beautiful, seemingly stationary while the ship ploughed forward. Dean had been standing for a while, smoking, but his hands shook too much with cold to hold another cigarette and he thrust the packet back into his pocket and curled his hands into the fabric but found little warmth there. The sea itself was a penetrating black and it was difficult to equate it with the deep blue of the daytime, but every now and then the ship’s lights would throw an iceberg into sharp relief and there would be a fleeting moment of shining white until the boat ignored it and moved on. He wished Castiel was here to see it. The stars were particularly bright and he was particularly alone.

The sharp ring of a bell somewhere above him snapped him out of his reverie and he blinked, shaking his head. He wanted a warm bed and maybe a hot drink. He lingered for a moment and prepared himself to go inside when he felt something shift under his feet. Confused, he looked down but of course saw only the wooden beams of the deck. He frowned and went to go inside when a slow but jolting shift momentarily unsettled his step and the engine stuttered and paused. Dean grabbed onto the rail and steadied himself. Then the engines began to roar again and slowly, slowly the ship changed direction. He leaned over the side, curious as to what necessitated the change, but saw nothing from his vantage point so made his way slowly towards the front of the ship, hand trailing along the rail, prepared to stop him falling.

The sight that met his eyes stopped his breath for a moment. A huge towering ice berg, almost as large as the ship itself, loomed silent and unmoving almost directly in front of them. Like a huge sentinel it broke out of the water, a sparkling white menace yet it looked almost soft, as though one could run one’s hand through it like a cloud.

It was directly in front of them and they were travelling at full speed. Holy shit.

Dean’s feet wouldn’t move and he stayed rooted by horror as it loomed larger and larger. The ship’s bow turned slowly, so slowly and set its new course to sail past it, but it wasn’t moving fast enough. It turned degree by degree to the port side; agonisingly near as they rode closer. Dean gripped the hand rail, unable to take his eyes off the huge mass speeding towards them.

The bow looked like it was just going to clear it and Dean’s heart plunged in his chest as it missed it by what looked like inches. His hand screamed in protest against the cold rail as Dean was pushed sideways into it. There was a horrendous scraping and squealing of metal which shook the entire ship and he clung on and he held his breath as the boat continued to steam forwards. The shaking and noise lasted barely thirty seconds and, just as quickly as it had started, it stopped and was replaced by the normal sound of the ship powering forwards. Dean sucked in a huge breath of cold air and released his numb hand. He tested for a few steps with hand still hovering above the rail until he was satisfied the ship was steady then jogged round the bow of the boat to the other side. He joined a small group of people leaning across the side to look at the iceberg moving away from them. It seemed completely undamaged, save for the smattering of its shards which had been left, strewn like constellations across the deck.

“Good job we didn’t hit head on!” a man said next to him. “Then we might really have been in trouble.”

“The ships unsinkable, dear, remember?” His wife reminded him. Everyone seemed satisfied with this summation and the iceberg soon became but a small bump in the distance and the crowd began to disperse, muttering among themselves. Dean leaned over. The lights from the portholes still shone through and he could see no damage from where he stood. He wondered if Castiel had seen anything from wherever he was. Dean tapped the side of the boat with a shaking hand, assuring himself of the strength of the wrought iron and stared as the iceberg got smaller moment by moment, then pushed himself from the rail. He was tired and antsy and just wanted to crawl into bed. Pushing thoughts of icebergs from his mind, he retired to his room, content that they were once again speeding towards New York.

 

~~~

 

Half an hour passed and Dean had disrobed himself of his jacket but was still clothed and mentally miles away from sleep. He’d spent some time pacing, sometime lying on his bed staring at the ceiling and some time sitting on the couch taping his foot. Something didn’t sit right with him. He didn’t like the fact that he hadn’t seen Castiel all day or the fact that he was under the watch of the biggest dick Dean had ever met. The ship’s near head-long crash had not helped prepare him for a restful sleep, and a familiar sense of guilt settled in his stomach, not just for the trouble he had caused Castiel, but from what he had decided to do once he reached America…

His train of thought was interrupted by the sound of raised voices outside his door. He ignored them for a moment but his curiosity, which had occasionally got him in to trouble, overpowered his discretion and he peered out of his door to see what the commotion was. A group of people were standing outside, yelling at a small man who, after a moment, Dean recognised as Chuck, the man who showed him to his room.

“I’m not _leaving,_ ” a woman screeched. “It’s the middle of the night! I’m in my nightclothes!”  
“Ma’am, please,” Chuck said desperately. “Everyone is ordered to report on deck.”

“But why?” she protested, turning to her husband for support. “There is no fathomable reason for this!”

“It’s drill, please madam, put your life jacket on,” Chuck said, holding one out to her.

“You hear this, Charles?” she said to her husband. “Absolute madness. I am not leaving this room! I am going to bed. Goodnight.” She slammed the door behind her and Chuck gave an exasperated twirl. Dean emerged from his room and tapped him on the shoulder.

“Hey, Chuck, right?” He said. “What’s happening?”

“The crew have received orders to escort all passengers onto the deck,” Chuck said. “But she doesn’t seem too pleased, as do many. I have to say I agree with them. I can’t think what the Captain is trying to achieve, apart from give everyone a huge headache.”

A horrendous sinking feeling settled itself into Dean’s stomach and knocked the breath out of him.

“I think I do,” he said, clenching and unclenching his fingers.

_Unsinkable._

“Sir?” Chuck asked. “Are you alright?”

“Yeah…yeah,” Dean said. “Up on deck you say?”

Chuck nodded.

“Right, well. I’ll be going then.” Chuck face broke in a grateful smile. Dean paused to look at the man, who knocked earnestly on the difficult woman’s door again and he felt a stab of pity for him. Dean headed off without another word, feet hitting hard against the floor and heart hammering as he made his way up the stairs. He had to be wrong.

_Unsinkable._

 

 

He burst into the foyer of the grand staircase, instantly lost in a crowd of people, most of whom looked tired, confused, worried or a combination of the three. Dean was all of those things, and adrenaline was pumping anxiety further though his body and he craned his neck. Stewards at the edges of the room were trying to guide people up the stairs and onto deck, though most passengers were hurling questions and complaints at them rather than following their directions. He saw men, woman and children clutching at luggage and clothes, having brought all their valuables. He searched the crowd desperately for the face he wanted to see. Perhaps he’d be helping to usher people, for there was no reason that crew would be evacuated through this entrance – he could only see first class passengers. His desperation grew with every passing minute and the general agitation of the crowd was pressing in on him and he felt a ball of panic rise up in his chest, even as the steward on the stairs ordered people to remain calm.

Dean’s heart was in the process of beating through his throat and attempting to strangle him when he heard someone call his name.  He whipped around and craned over the crowd to see who it was. It took a moment to focus on a small man jumping up and down and waving. Gabriel.

Dean shoved his way through the noise of the crowd to reach him.

“Gabriel,” he said, jostled by irritated people as the majority of the crowd resigned to follow orders and climb upstairs. “What the hell is going on?”

Gabriel pulled Dean by the wrist to the side of the room, away from the body of the crowd. Dean had never seen him look so worried.

“Winchester,” he began and ran a hand through his hair. “Fuck.”

“Dean,” he corrected. “Is this about the iceberg?” Dean asked, desperate for an explanation.   
“What?” Gabriel said snapping his eyes to Dean’s with a confused expression. “How did you…?”

“I saw.” Dean said shortly.

“Right,” Gabriel nodded, nodding. “See I was delivering tea to the blokes in communications. Bunch of bastards they are, think they’re so clever because they can use code. Ha! Let me tell you…Dammit, anyway I arrived and it’s a fucking riot in there. People yelling and shit I hear one guy yell to send out a CQD and an SOS to surrounding boats.”

Dean nodded, jaw clenched.

“So I ask one of the guys what’s happening and the gist I got was, basically,” he stopped to look heavenwards and draw in a breath before looking at Dean again. “We’re sinking. The _Titanic_ is sinking.”

Dean’s heart stopped. He’d known, of course, he’d known since hearing Chuck’s conversation with that woman, but fuck, he hadn’t wanted to hear it.

Dean stroked a hand across his jaw in horror.

“Are you sure?” He said. Gabriel was a joker, right? Perhaps this was the mother of all pranks.

“Yep,” he said solemnly “Hit the iceberg on starboard side, engine rooms flooded almost instantly. We’re going down fast.”

“How fast?” Dean asked, terrified of the answer. He glanced a look around the room, watching as people jostled each other and yelled across the room. He stared at the grand staircase and its sweeping wooden elegance and tried to imagine it underwater. His throat convulsed and he took a deep breath.

“Hour. Maybe an hour and a half.” Gabriel said quietly and Dean wrung his hands.

“Fuck,” he said. “Fuck. How far are the nearest ships?”

“Don’t know, but they’re gonna have to hurry.” He leaned in closer. “I’m gonna tell you something you don’t want to hear but here goes.” Dean mirrored his position.

“Not enough lifeboats for everyone on board. No-where near.”  
The number 20 bounced around his head. He knew that. He’d counted them. When did he do that? Why hadn’t he realised that there weren’t enough?

_Unsinkable._

“I know,” he said. “Fuck.”

“But Dean, you’re forgetting something,” Gabriel said, leaning back.

“What?” Dean said, a fog descending on his brain that wasn’t allowing rational thought beyond a string of swearwords and the imagined rush of water filling the rooms he had wondered through just hours ago.

“Cas!” Gabriel said urgently.   
“Yeah,” Dean said. He hadn’t forgotten. “What door’s he gonna come out of?” But Gabriel was shaking his head.

“Dean, you don’t get it do you?” He said, exasperated. “He’s not _going_ to come out. I talked to some knowledgeable people after you left and…fuck, Dean, they’ve got him locked up. Like a prisoner.”

“Well, they’ll let him go, won’t they? The ships fucking sinking!” Dean cried, terrible images flashing through his mind of Castiel trapped while water gushed through the decks. Gabriel shushed him, looking at the people around them, but they were ignoring the pair.

Gabriel shook his head. “I doubt it, why would they? He’s as good as a criminal in their eyes and Crowley, the dick, will have scarpered at the first sign of trouble.”

Dean leaned against the wall, hands on his knees.

“No,” he said stupidly. “No. That can’t happen.”

 “You’ve got to find him, Dean,” Gabriel said urgently, shaking Dean’s shoulder. “Get him out as quickly as you can. We don’t have much time – he’ll be on a low deck and we’re sinking fast.”  
Dean blinked as Gabriel’s words shot to the back of his mind where uncharted memories were hidden and ripped out one of Dean’s earliest recollections.  
His father had his hand on Dean’s tiny shoulder just as Gabriel did and was shouting at him, _“Take your brother outside as fast as you can, don’t look back!” Dean stands terrified. “Now, Dean! Go!”_   The same feeling of panic and fear grips him now as it did then, only instead of hot flames licking at his periphery, tumultuous waters lay below him and instead of Sammy that needed saving, it was Cas. His mother died in the fire that night, burning in the flames that flicker behind Dean’s eyelids as he stands by the great staircase. He can’t lose someone like that again. Panic rose inside him and he couldn’t think. Cas, Cas, Cas, Sam, Sam, Sam, Mom. It was too much. He felt sick.

“Dean!” Gabriel shouted, snapping Dean violently out his mind with a rough shake of his shoulder. “Are you even listening to me?”

Dean blinked. “Yes,” he said quietly, then shook his head forcefully, dispelling the memory. “Yes.”

Gabriel sighed and removed his hand from Dean’s shoulder, vanquishing the final traces of John and that night from the present and Dean refocused his mind on the current situation. There’s no fire and no younger brother. The _Titanic_ is sinking. Castiel needs his help.

“Good,” Gabriel said and hazarded a glace around at the brewing chaos of the room. “He’s down below. I don’t know exactly where but I can bet you he’ll be on a lowish deck. But careful, God, some of them are already flooding.” Dean nodded; pushing down the dread that Gabriel’s uncertainty was giving him.   
“It’ll be deep – away from the main public areas. That’s why you’ve got to _hurry,_ ” Gabriel urged and Dean nodded mutely again.   
“Okay. Okay, I’m going.” He said and looked towards the door that led to lower decks. “Thank-you,” he said looking at Gabriel’s face, which had completely lost its usual mischievous look, replaced by lines of worry.

“No,” Gabriel said. “Thank you.”

As Dean began to walk away from the scene, Gabriel called after him. “I’d say God be with you but,” he looked upwards. “I don’t think he’s with any of us.”

Dean took a last look at Gabriel as he stood, almost lost among the crowd of people. He nodded a silent promise and a silent thank-you.

Then he turned away and pushed as fast as he could in the crowd, and took off at a run towards the lower decks and, he prayed, towards Castiel.

~~~

Crowley had left Castiel to his own devices nearly four hours ago and he was bored as hell. He had been hoping that Crowley would come back and either give him something to do, or at least escort him to a bedroom. He was still in the dingy office which provided exactly zero comforts, nothing to do and his eyes were drooping slightly. He’d gone through the drawers but found nothing except last week’s newspaper, which he’d read from cover to cover then spent some time pacing and some time thinking about what he was going to say to Dean when they disembarked. He’d be feeling unnecessarily guilty; Castiel knew that much. He had settled down in his chair and spent far too long sitting quietly. He didn’t mind it. It gave him room for contemplation. He had always thought that if he ever discovered the world was ending, he’d like to sit in silence and spend time reflecting.

Tiredness gripped him as the evening wore on. He had no idea what time it was for there was no clock on the wall and he had no watch. His foot tapped out a non-existent rhythm and he hummed a tune that he couldn’t find the words to. Eventually, tiredness had worn him down to the point of closing his eyes, though he could never sleep sitting upright and the desk was far too uncomfortable as he buried his head into his elbows on its surface. He wasn’t sure how long he’d closed his eyes for and dozed but when he opened them the light blinded him for a moment. Sighing he paused for a moment to let them adjust.

“What the hell…” he muttered when they began to function normally. He pushed himself upright, stumbling on his drowsy legs and moved round the desk to face the door.

A stream of water was flowing in underneath it, creating a puddle on the hard wood. Even as Castiel watched the puddle grew bigger and he knelt down next to it.

He dipped his finger in experimentally and licked at it. Salty. How bizarre. His brain was still slightly in sleep mode and he wasn’t ready to deal with shit like this. Where the hell was the water coming from? He moved over to the window, but it was too dark outside to give any clues to what was happening. It must be the middle of the night. He moved back across the room and tried the door, but it was still locked. He twisted the handle and pulled with all his strength. It didn’t budge.

The water was coming in a lot faster than appearances would first suggest and it was but a few minutes before the entire floor had a thin layer of water covering it. The soles of his shoes were wet, but it wasn’t until it threated his socks that he sat on the desk to avoid it.

He needed to think logically about this. Perhaps one of the water tanks had burst and become contaminated somehow. Maybe even the pool. That was around here somewhere, right? He tried to bring up his mental deck plan, but that didn’t help as he didn’t know exactly where he was. He felt a slight edge of panic begin to creep up his spine.

There was only one explanation. But that was impossible, right? That was the entire point of this ship and part of why it had gained its reputation. It couldn’t sink. That was what unsinkable meant. Castiel tried to consolidate the two ideas, but couldn’t. It didn’t add up. The _Titanic_ couldn’t be _sinking._ He had to be mistaken. Perhaps he was still dreaming.

He walked over to the door again, worried by the noise of splashing under him. That really wasn’t good. He tried the door again as if cosmic chance might have improved his situation but it remained unmoved by his attempts.

Sinking.

That _really_ wasn’t good. He tried the door again, the panic that he had been pushing back bubbling up slightly as he wrenched the handle, but it wouldn’t budge.

Shit. Still, he kept trying with the pathetic hope that it would give way. Water lapped at his ankles and then his shins and he wrenched the door harder, hands slick with a nervous sweat and slipping off the handle, unable to get a grip.

He gave in. The lock wasn’t going to budge. He had to find another option. He surveyed the room and waded ( _‘Fuck’_ ) over to the chair Crowley had sat in just a few hours before.

_‘If that ass has left me here to die, I swear to god,”_ he thought as he lifted the chair and turned it over on the table. He’d been hoping to get a leg out, but the chair was too well made and his fear wasn’t allowing him to think logically or create a better plan, so he turned around and raised the chair above his head before bringing it down with full force on the door handle.

Nothing happened.

He did it again and again, panting with the effort and fuelled only by the jittery rush of adrenaline that was threatening to stop his heart if it continued. Paint and splinters flicked off the door as he hit and he realised that it was a completely ineffective plan but continued anyway, too panicked to reconsider.

With a final blow, an echoing clang and sound of wood breaking hit his ears and he watched as the door handle fell off and fell with a splash into the water at his feet, which was lapping now just above his knees. It was freezing and Castiel was shivering. He couldn’t hold the chair anymore and dropped it and leaned down to inspect the damage. The door was still locked from the outside and he couldn’t even try to open it with nothing hold. He scrabbled pathetically at the hole for a moment, and scraped his fingers against the wood and he was sure that when the adrenaline wore off that was going to hurt like a bitch.

_“Shit shit shit shitshitshit,_ ” was the only phrase that would form in his brain.

The water was up to his thighs.

He was completely stuck.

He took a deep breath, balled his fists, hammered on the door and started to scream.

 

**~~~~~~**

Dean pushed his way through the crowds of people moving against him, sensibly trying to get out of the boat rather than delve further into its bowels, which was what Dean was doing. Some tried to grab him and usher him along with them, but he threw their hands off him, speeding up at every turn until he was running flat out through the ship.

He’d asked every employee he saw where he could find Castiel, but most of them had looked at him like he was insane. He probably hadn’t phrased the question as well as he could and most, upon being asked where prisoners were held, had urged him to go on deck but he pushed them away too.

The father he went and the longer he was without Castiel, the worse his thoughts got. If Dean didn’t find him, Cas was going to drown.

He was going to die alone, locked in a room.

Dean might get stuck and die along with him, never having found each other again. Dean’s heart screamed as he ran, both from exertion and terror, the fear of not finding Castiel far greater than his own fear of the incoming waters.

The fact there was no water at all through the first four decks didn’t calm his nerves at all. Without making a conscious decision, he began to yell Cas’s name at the top of his lungs, which wasn’t improving his reputation with the people walking past him. He swung open doors every now and again, but found only deserted rooms. People kept telling him to turn back but he brushed them off. It wasn’t his life that was that main concern at the moment. He couldn’t imagine what state Cas would be in. What if he was already neck deep in water and Dean couldn’t reach him in time?

The first sign that his urgency was warranted was his first contact with someone who was actually wet. A man emerged from a flight of stairs, pants saturated from his thighs downwards. Dean hailed him.

“Where have you just come from?” He asked.

The man looked nervously behind him.

“E-deck, there’s a load of us coming up now and fuck it’s starting to get pretty high in there.” He ran his hands through his hair. “Unsinkable, hey. What a joke!” He looked as though he was about to burst into hysterics so Dean waved him away and descended the stairs. Sure enough, a trail of people was pushing through the water down the hall, causing waves to splash against the walls. More emerged from doors and they were the first set of people Dean had seen that looked as nervous as he felt. Dean hovered on the stairs, not wanting to enter the water, but people began to push past him in their attempts to get out and Dean made his way forwards. The first step was the horrible and the cold pushed through him like tiny knives in his legs and he clenched his teeth. The second step was even worse and they did not improve after that. He pushed his way forwards, ignored by the people scrambling for the upper decks. He was about to start shouting again when he saw a familiar face.

“Balthazar!” he yelled, a smile almost breaking onto his face if it hadn’t been so creased with worry. He hated the blond bastard, but he would know where Cas was. He had to know.

The man turned to look at him briefly before attempting to dodge past Dean and follow the thinning crowd up the stairs.

“Hey!” Dean yelled and surged forwards and grabbed the man by the arm and pulled him towards himself. Balthazar thrashed around in the water and the pair experienced an unsteady few moments as the blond tried to wrestle from Dean’s grip and Dean held tighter, leaning a hand on the wall for support.

“What the fuck are you doing?” Balthazar cried, all elements of professionalism wiped clean by the water beneath them. “Let me go!”

Dean slammed Balthazar against the wall, hindered slightly by the resistance of the water and held him by his collar. The man squirmed and scrabbled at Dean’s hands but he held firm. If any of the people behind them saw, they obviously didn’t care for no one mentioned the fact that Dean was threatening an apparently innocent man.

“Where’s Cas?” He yelled, the time for preliminaries long gone.

“Is _that_ what this is about?”

Balthazar yelped as Dean pressed his hand harder. “You’re fucking insane! Just go get in a lifeboat and get the hell out of here!”

“Not without Cas,” Dean yelled.

“Forget _Cas_! Who gives a shit about some low life waiter? Save yourself!”

“I do,” Dean said. “I give a shit about a low life waiter; now tell me where he is!”

Balthazar squirmed.

“No,” he said. “Fucking leave him and let’s _get the hell out of here_.”  
“I don’t have time for this, you son of a bitch,” Dean shouted and swung a punch at Balthazar and felt the crunch of bones beneath his fist. Balthazar’s hands moved from Dean’s to paw at his face.

“Ow, ow, ow,” he yelled as blood spurted from his nose. “Fucking lunatic!”

Dean crowded his face in to the other man’s and growled;

“Tell me where he is or I will knock you out and leave you to drown down here, understand?”

“Fine,” Balthazar forced out. “Fine, but let go of me.”

Dean leaned back and relaxed his grip slightly.   
“Alright. Now _where is he?_ ”

“Down here, then turn left,” he panted, jerking his head away to the right. “But water’s deeper back there. Like waist deep,” he looked at Dean. “Come on, Dean. He’s not worth it.”

“He’s worth it to me. Worth a lot more than a fucking rat like you,” Dean asserted and Balthazar shook his head, trying to wiggle out of Dean’s grip again.

“If the door is locked, how do I open it?” Dean articulated, drawing on every syllable to stop himself screaming. Fear and anger were building up inside him and if he didn’t find some inner calm, he was gonna do something stupid like rip Balthazar’s throat out.

“Key cabinet bout half way down the hall,” Balthazar said, rummaging in his pocket. He drew out a small key ring and dangled in in front of Dean’s face and the metal shapes jingled together.

“Brown one to open it,” Balthazar informed him. Dean released the man’s shirt to snatch at the keys and began to turn, dismissing Balthazar as useless. He was on his own again, armed with information and keys.

“If either of you suicidal maniacs make it, don’t ever talk to me again,” Balthazar yelled after him. Dean resisted the urge to turn around and spit in his face as he heard Balthazar splash towards the stairs, the slight tide pressing at Dean’s legs.

He waded father down the hall, the water level seeming to increase with every step and the lights flickering above him, momentarily plunging the hall into darkness before illuminating the full horrors again. He took the first left, as Balthazar had directed. The hall stretched out endlessly before him, the water an all-consuming presence.

Unstoppable. Like fire.   
Dean pushed onwards desperately but progress was slow in the heavy water and he’d gone barely a few feet before the lights flickered again. He gritted his teeth and bore onwards through the tide.

“C’mon, Cas,” he said, a tiny prayer under his breath before taking in a lungful of air and yelling Castiel’s name as loud as he could.

The key cabinet loomed on Dean’s left about half way down the hall. The water lapped at his hips and he pushed against the tide, drawing up in front of the cabinet. He fumbled with the key but could barely hold it as he began to shake with adrenaline again. The flickering lights gave his heart a little push and each time he feared it would be that moment that he’d be plunged into darkness permanently, He fumbled with the key too hard and he dropped it and swore loudly. Taking a deep breath, knelt down into the water, freezing up to his shoulders and scrabbled for it before his hands finally clamped on the metal and he drew up again, shaking violently. There was more than one brown key on the ring and a stab of rage rose against Balthazar. He swore again.

“Cas, I’m coming,” he muttered and fumbled with all the brown ones in, but his hands wouldn’t steady. The first didn’t work, nor the second or the third. Finally, with a click which sounded as though it came from heaven, the cabinet opened. There were about a hundred keys inside. He bit his lip. He looked down the hall. The water was uncomfortable around his hips now and every instinct was screaming at him to run. He was going to have to see the lock before he could chose the correct key. Fuck. He stared at the cabinet for a moment longer before taking a deep breath he pushed onwards, yelling at the top of his voice, which was already hoarse. Every second that he didn’t have Castiel, they were a second further away from a lifeboat and minute closer to…He shoved the thought from his mind. They were going to make it. They had to. They had to because it wasn’t fair that they should be taken from each other, so shortly after meeting. They had to because they hadn’t done all the things they wanted or said all the things they needed to. They just needed more _time._ He pushed forwards, growing increasingly desperate and his calls became higher, until finally he heard something, a sound breaking through the silent flicker of waves like an eagle’s cry in the night, echoing down the hall.

Someone a few feet down was banging on a door and screaming almost as loudly as Dean.

“Cas?” he yelled, barely daring to hope.

There was a pause.

“Is someone there?” It called, sounding just as desperate as he was.

“I’m coming,” Dean shouted and willed his legs to move forward. His muscles burned under the strain of pushing through the water which was trying with all its might to force him in the other direction.

He reached the door with a final lunge and clung onto the door frame.

“Hello?” He yelled.

There was a pause then,

“Thank god! Fuck, help me, please help me!”

Dean recognised that voice anywhere.

“Cas!” he yelled and the panic that had been gripping his throat and heart and choking him like a vine twisted around his insides relaxed slightly. “Cas!” He said again, unable to believe it. He’d found him. He’d never been so happy to hear anyone in his life.

“ _Dean_?” Castiel said. “Is that really you?”  
“Yes,” Dean cried. The water lapped at his waist now.

“God, I am so fucking happy to hear you. God,” Castiel said and stopped hammering on the door. “You have no idea.” He paused. “Dean, what the fuck is happening? I’ve been locked in here all day and suddenly all this fucking water starts pouring in and Crowley buggered off hours ago…”

“I’ll explain later. Right now we gotta get you out,” Dean shouted through the wood, looking at the lock.

“How?” Castiel asked. “It’s fucking locked.” The lights went again.

“There’s a key cabinet back there…but there was like a thousand keys in there,” he said, pressing a hand against the door, wishing he could reach through and take Castiel’s hand and pull them both to safety.

“What sort of key do you think it is?” Dean said more quietly, trying to stay calm for Castiel’s sake even as he filled with dread. How on earth was he going to find the right one?

“I would say,” Castiel paused. “Gold? Maybe? That’s the color of the handle.”

“Okay,” Dean said. “Okay. I’ll go have a look. I’ll be back soon.”

“Promise?” Castiel said, almost too quiet to hear through the wood and Dean put his other hand to the door, willing Castiel to feel his honesty seep through it and praying to anything listening that he might feel Castiel’s touch again, his hand in his own and see those bright eyes looking at him.

“I promise,” he said, voice dipped in sincerity and it bounced off the wood and along the hall, drowning in the water. “I’m not leaving you.”

He lingered for a moment, waiting for any more words that needed to pass between them, but none came so Dean wrenched himself from the door and turned back the way he’d come, delight at finding Castiel ripped away by panic as he lunged down the hall, waves rippling out from him as he splashed towards the cabinet.

Once in front of it, he knew the quest was futile. There were tens of gold keys, all looking exactly the same. He jangled some in his hand to find that none of them were labelled. He threw silver and bronze ones behind him, a frenzy building. The key may not even _be_ gold, his logic reasoned, but he was steadily growing more frantic. He slammed his hands against the cabinet and the keys rattled obscenely, some enough to fall into the water with a splash around him. He growled in frustration and heard Castiel say something down the hall, and it slashed a clean line through his mind. He needed to calm down and think about this. Trying to unlock the door with a key was not going to be fast enough, he reasoned as the water lapped at the underside of his ribs. He looked around, trying to see through the red panic in his vision and he honed in on another cabinet just a few feet from him. Inside was a fire axe. He almost leapt over to it, throwing up a spray of water. He looked around desperately for something to smash the glass with, but nothing appeared within three seconds, so he balled his fist, took a deep breath and smashed his hand into it, wincing as the glass shattered and tiny shards splashed into the waters. Droplets of blood ran down his hand and tainted the white cuff of his shirt as he wrenched the axe from its hooks but that was the least of his problems. He could have kissed it. He practiced swinging it, like the baseball bats he’d played with at school and it sliced through the air in a beautiful arc. It quelled his shakes slightly and it felt almost comforting to have a weapon in his hand.  

He splashed back to Castiel and announced his return.

“Did you get the key?” Castiel asked but didn’t sound hopeful. Dean couldn’t begin to imagine the sort of fear he must he experienced, watching water rush in, unstoppable through the door of an unsinkable ship. He swallowed.

“No,” he said. “Stand back.”

“Why?” Castiel said, but Dean heard the splash of water as Castiel moved.

“Trust me,” Dean said and weighed the axe in his hand, feeling its steady durability in his hand. “Come on,” he muttered to it. “Let’s do this.”

He sucked a breath deep into his lungs and took his stance, planting his feet firmly on the ground, though the water did its best to sway him. He swung the axe and slammed it as hard as he could against the door. The wood flicked splinters everywhere and he wrenched the axe from the door, the momentum pushing him back slightly when it sprung free.

“Dean, what the hell are you doing?” Castiel yelled but Dean didn’t answer and swung again and the metal head pierced straight through the wood, widening the hole. Castiel yelled at him again, but Dean had entered a zone of fevered but concentrated determination he methodically hacked at the door, filling the air with a sickening splintering noise, the hole growing in front of his eyes until he could see through into the room and the furniture which floated aimlessly within. The sea lapped at Dean’s chest and sweat broke out on his forehead as he swung again and again, the wood crunching in protest and spattering its broken remains through the air until finally, the hole was large enough for a slim man to crawl through and Dean tossed the axe aside, panting and he moved to look through the hole. Castiel staggered towards him through the water, a huge smile on his face and a crashing wave of relief swept through him as he reached his hands through the hole, wanting to touch Castiel as soon as possible, wanting to confirm that this was real and he’d found him. That he was safe. Or at least safer than he had been. The grateful euphoria on Castiel’s face was the most beautiful sight he’d ever seen and he felt a surge of emotion rise up through his chest and well up in his eyes.

“Dean!” Castiel cried and lunged forwards through the waist deep water, arms outstretched to meet Dean’s and Dean squeezed Castiel’s hands, tears of relief threatening to spill and add to the already plentiful water.

“Come on,” he prompted and Castiel, not letting go of Dean’s hands, kicked a floating chair under his feet. He pushed it against the door and clambered on it, almost falling at its unsteady buoyancy then moved his hands to grab onto the bottom of the hole which was a spikey mess of splintered wood and Dean saw his hands were bruised and felt a stab of compassion. Castiel teetered on the chair and Dean’s hands snapped to his underarms and tugged him through the hole, almost laughing at the feeling of holding him again. The final pull threatened to topple them both over but Castiel grabbed onto the pipes lining the hall’s ceiling and wrapped his legs around Dean’s hips and Dean steadied himself, arms binding tightly around Castiel’s waist. Then they were kissing. Dean kissed him with all his might, as if he was a man with nothing left to give but his soul as they laughed and tears spilt hot rivers down both their cheeks, unashamed and they forgot the chest-deep water and flickering lights, hands pressed tightly into each other’s skin, gripping and touching, assuring each other that they were real and muttering promises to never let go.

“God, Cas,” Dean cried with relief into the man’s shoulder. “I thought I was never going to find you…I thought I’d lost you forever.”

Castiel clutched at his shoulders. “I thought I was going to die in there. I thought I was never going to see you again. Fuck.” Dean breathed into his neck and gripped him round the waist, shaking as he came down from the adrenaline rush.   
“Cas, your hands,” he said, bringing one of them from his shoulders and kissing at the darkened patches on the side. “What happened?”

“I was hammering on the door,” he hiccupped. “Did you hear me?” Dean nodded, clenching the man’s waist in tighter and Castiel answered by hooking his legs around Dean desperately.

“I think I was yelling your name,” he admitted into Dean’s hair. “I don’t even know why, I just…I guess I knew you’d come find me.” Dean brought his hands up to Castiel’s neck and stroked.

“Of course I would,” he assured. “Of course I did, you fucker.”

“You wanna know what I thought when I saw all that water coming through?” Castiel said and Dean nodded into his neck. “I thought, fuck, Dean said he can’t swim.” He laughed and Dean joined him through his tears. “But you still came for me,” Castiel said quietly, looking into Dean’s eyes and Dean nodded silently.

“Cas, we gotta get going,” he said, giving his mouth a last peck, drawing it out just to feel Castiel’s lips under his again. “They’re sending lifeboats out not, we gotta get out of here.” Castiel nodded and unwrapped his legs and slid down into the water, hissing as it hit his chest and followed Dean’s lead as they waded back through the hall.

“So, uh,” Castiel said as they walked. “You wanna fill me in? What the fuck is happening?”

“We’re sinking,” Dean provided. “We’re fucking sinking, that’s what’s happening.”  
“But _how_?” Castiel asked and took Dean’s hand underwater, squeezing it occasionally, an assurance that they were united again.

“Iceberg,” Dean said. “I saw it actually, but didn’t think anything of it at the time. Hit the starboard side and, well, here we are. ‘Bout half an hour later they start rounding people up and I see _Gabe_ of all people and, well, he told me I had to come find you. That they’d locked you up.”

Castiel nodded sombrely. “Fucking asshole Crowley left me there to die apparently.”

“I met that son of a bitch,” Dean said. “Fucking threatened to have me arrested.”

“Huh, that was probably my fault,” Castiel admitted. “Accidently gave the game away. Though I suppose it doesn’t matter now.”

“Anyway, now they’re loading lifeboats. Gabe said they’d called out an SOS but we need to get back on deck quickly. We’ve got less than an hour ‘til this son of a bitch goes down.”

They had reached the stairs, the lower steps of which were swimming in sea. Dean led the way, pulling Castiel by the hand. They emerged from the water, but its memory remained as it made their clothes cling to their bodies and squelched in their shoes but both sighed with relief at leaving the it behind. Dean made to press forward, but Castiel held him back by the hand.

“Hey, Dean,” he said quietly and Dean turned, anxiety thrumming through him but the look in Castiel’s eyes told him he needed to listen.

“Thanks,” he said. “Thank you for coming to get me. You could have left me. I would have forgiven you.”

“No I couldn’t,” Dean said quickly. “That wasn’t an option.”

“You risked your life for me, Dean,” Castiel said as if the words pained him. “I’m not worth that.”

Dean’s heart broke as he looked at the man’s sad eyes.

“Don’t say that Cas,” he said firmly, eyes almost threatening to spill again. Too much emotion had been packed into one day. “You’re worth it to me, Cas. I need you. There’s no way I’m leaving this goddamn ship without you by my side, okay?”

Castiel bit his lip and nodded. They stared at each other for a moment, wanting to say more but unable to find the words. The lights flickering shocked them back into the situation at hand and they set of again, at a run, hands unlinked but feet pounding the floor in time.

 

  

They reached the Grand Staircase panting. The higher decks were still populated by protesting passengers who couldn’t believe that they were sinking, though many seemed to be swayed when the pair ran past, flinging droplets of water out from their saturated clothes as they powered through the halls and towards the staircase.

Castiel ascended the first steps and Dean grabbed the rail to follow him, then paused. He looked around the room, hoping to see Gabriel to assure him that Cas was now as safe as any of them were but most of the crew seemed to have evacuated and only a handful were left to direct people.

Castiel turned to see Dean had stopped and he reached a hand to Dean’s shoulder.

“What’s wrong Dean?” he asked. “They’re loading lifeboats right?” He straightened up and moved his hands to his hips. “Shall we go catch one and get the hell outta dodge?” Dean shifted on his feet.

“Cas,” Dean said firmly and grabbed hold of the other man’s wrist. “Are we just gonna ignore the huge problem that’s staring us in the face?”

“What?” Castiel said, almost not listening as his head turned towards the staircase, the tendons in his wrist tense under Dean’s grip.

“Well how many people are on this ship?” Dean asked, “Roughly?”

Cas ran a hand through his hair. “About a thousand or so.”

“Including crew?” Dean prompted, hand still firm against Castiel’s wrist which twisted as Castiel positioned his body towards him.

“Two thousand odd then.” Castiel supplied tersely. “I fail to see how this is relevant, Dean.”

“And how many lifeboats are on this ship?” Dean continued, determined to spell it out before they reached the deck.

“I don’t know, I didn’t count them!” Castiel said, trying to pull Dean up the staircase.

“Well I did.”

“And?” Castiel said, his voice softer and the expression on his face told Dean that he already knew the answer.   
“Not enough,” Dean confirmed with a shake of his head. “No-where near enough.”

Castiel nodded and swallowed.

“There’s a rescue boat coming,” Castiel said. “Coming to pick up the rest of us. You said.”

“You think it’s gonna arrive in time?” Dean asked, releasing Castiel’s wrist which fell limply to his side. His paranoia was forcing his way through his word filter and Castiel’s shoulders were tensing with every sentence. Dean wanted to stop worrying himself _and_ Castiel but that was like telling the sea to stop rushing into the boat and just wait while everyone disembarked in an orderly fashion before continuing.

“Yes.” Castiel nodded firmly. “They mayday’d nearly an hour ago. Someone must be coming.”

“Okay.” Dean nodded and swallowed, turning his eyes towards the stairs as affirmation that he was ready to go. “But I don’t have a good feeling about this,” he admitted.

Castiel squeezed his shoulder. “The fucking unsinkable _Titanic_ is soon to be underwater. No-one has a good feeling about this.”

Dean smiled weakly, returned awkwardly by Castiel, the attempted joke submerged under the weight of what that really meant and they ascended the staircase in silence.

 

 

 

 

 


	10. The End

The scene on deck was quiet unlike Castiel had imagined. He’d been expecting a lot more chaos and screaming and a lot less orderly queuing. Perhaps only the British had arrived. Dean pulled him towards the side of the ship where a huge crowd had amassed around a steward, who was ordering people to board the lifeboats. Looking across the sea, there were already a few rowing away from the boat. Dean pressed forward into the crowd.

“Women and children first!” The man in front strained to be heard over the babble below him. “No, sir, please allow the woman and children on first….”

“I still don’t understand why we’re doing this,” someone yelled. “Isn’t this a drill?”

The man sighed.

“No, ma’am this isn’t a drill,” he said and ushered a large woman in a huge hat unsteadily onto the lifeboat and a man lifted a child onto her lap.

There was some vague murmuring after his announcement and the atmosphere shifted slightly and the crowd pushed forwards a little more. Castiel reached out and grabbed Dean’s elbow as they were buffered in the mass.

“Men, please stand back!” The man at the front called. “Women and children only.” Some men grumbled and grudgingly moved aside to allow those behind them to board. Dean looked at Castiel, who shrugged.

“We’re not going to get on this one,” he said and Dean nodded. Castiel felt the muscles in Dean’s arm tense under his fingers.

“Right!” The steward called to his fellow crew. “Let this one down!”

They looked over to the lifeboat which started to descend on unwieldy ropes.

“That’s only got twenty people on it!” Dean said angrily, but the man took no notice and continued to instruct his colleagues frantically as the boat tipped and the passengers yelled out. “Why are they sending them down so empty?” Dean asked, turning to Castiel who shrugged.

“Maybe they don’t think it’s enough of an emergency yet,” Castiel suggested. “The other ships can pick up the rest.”

Above them a flare rocket exploded into a red fire which illuminated the sky and the scene below for barely a second before plummeting back into the ocean.

“See, someone will notice that,” Castiel said and Dean nodded. The next life boat was lowered and uncovered and the crowd pushed forwards again with a renewed sense of panic.

“Women and children first,” came the order again. Castiel look around. There were still a lot of women and kids pushing to be let on. They weren’t going to get on this boat. Nor the next one by the look of it.

“Shall we get outta the way?” Castiel suggested, motioning to the crowd. “They won’t let us on until all the women and children have gone.”

Dean nodded. “Alright,” he said and they manoeuvred their way out of the crowd and left the people to their pushing and shoving and moved to stand near the stern.

They remained quiet for a moment, watching the lifeboat load and eventually cast away, again with what looked like space still left on its benches. Away from the crowd the air was colder and they both shivered. Neither had a jacket, nor, Castiel noted with a pang of worry, a lifejacket. Castiel could sense Dean’s tension and he rubbed his shoulder in what he hoped was a soothing way and he felt Dean breathe deeply underneath and he turned to Castiel.

“Have the crew even been trained to do this? That guy’s a moron – there’s gotta be room for like forty people in those boats.” Castiel shook his head.

“They cancelled the emergency training. Didn’t think they’d need it.”

Dean laughed barked out a laugh “This would be fucking hilarious if it weren’t for the, you know, imminent risk of death.” He was almost shouting and Castiel shifted nervously.

“Sorry,” Dean said. “Sorry, but fuck. The son of a bitch is sinking. _How_?”

Castiel shook his head. The bow was dipping ever closer to the water and they had to plant their feet more firmly on the ground to stay upright as the deck became steeper.

“I don’t know,” Castiel said. “It’s gotta be, what, one in a million chance?”

Dean nodded then looked at him, his eyes reflecting the thousands of tiny lights above them, the stars remaining completely unmoved by the scene below. His face had sunk into a mask of worry and Castiel suspected he didn’t look any better.

“They say a lot of things are one in a million,” Castiel said quietly, the rest of the world dissolving for a moment as he got lost in Dean’s eyes. “Like meeting you. That was the luckiest thing that ever happened to me.”

He looked at the floor so didn’t catch Dean’s expression, but he felt Dean’s arm reach out to squeeze his shoulder.

Another lifeboat was lowered.

“I’m still glad,” Dean stuttered out. “I’m still glad I got on this boat, even now.”

Castiel raised his head again and Dean’s honesty shone out like a beacon.

“Are you _sure_?”

Dean nodded emphatically. “I will never regret this, Castiel, because I got to meet you.”

“You may change your mind about that in a few minutes,” he replied quietly as the boat tilted through another few degrees. Dean shook his head.

“Never.” He replied, still shaking but keeping his eyes on Castiel. “Never.”

“Me neither,” Castiel said quietly and they stared at each other for a few moments, unspoken words spiralling between them, visible as their breaths in the stabbing night.

Another flare rocket launched.

There was something Castiel needed to say, but it was interrupted a woman screaming blue murder slightly to their right.

~

 

“My child!” She yelled from the lifeboat, standing up and craning over the crowd. “Where is my child? Emily!” She screamed. No one seemed to be paying attention, least of all the steward, who was still ushering people on. There was something familiar about the woman but Dean couldn’t place it...  
“Emily!” She yelled again. Dean swallowed and looked around. It hit him. She was the redhead who had been in front of him in the queue to embark. He remembered a small blonde child burrowing into its mother’s skirts. Emily.

Dean looked at her panicked expression as she craned to look over the mass of people and without another thought, he took off at a run into the crowd, scanning every inch of the deck for the child. He heard Castiel call out behind him but ignored him.

“Emily,” he called out and jostled through the small crowds of people, searching the deck as the mother grew more hysterical. He skirted to a stop in front of a bench and turned his head frantically. Then he heard something below him and he looked down. A small child was curled up under the bench, sobbing with heart breaking sobs and Dean was reminded of the time when Sammy fell out of a tree and broke his arm. He’d tried to be brave but eventually had bawled as Dean picked him up and carried him back to the house. He knelt down.

“Emily?” he asked and she opened her eyes and uncurled slightly. He eyes shone glassily out at him.

“I’ve lost my mummy!” She cried the tears began again.

“I know where she is,” Dean assured and held out a hand, shushing her quietly. She paused for a moment before taking the hand and sliding out from under the bench. She clambered up onto her feet and Dean swept her up in his arms and ran back to the lifeboat. The woman was screaming to be let off to find her child as the crew began to unwind the rope and let the boat down, ignoring her cries. Dean pushed his way through the crowd with the child in his arms. The steward yelled at him to get back, but he leaned over the side and lifted Emily over to her mother’s outstretched arms.

“Emily!” She screamed in delight at the same time as her child cried “Mummy,” and buried her head into her shoulder. The woman looked up at Dean through streaming eyes.

“Thank you,” she said. “God bless you, god bless you, thank you,” she breathed out and clutched Emily close to her chest. Dean tipped his non-existent hat.

“Any time, ma’am,” he smiled and pushed himself off the side as she arranged her skirts and sat down with the child on her lap.

Dean turned to find the steward looking at him.

“Alright, you can have that one,” he said grudgingly. “But no more heroic acts, alright?” Dean nodded and dissolved back into the crowd, where he found Castiel who shook his head at him.

“You,” he began. “You’re a hero. Goddammit Dean, where did that come from?”

Dean shrugged. “I’m not gonna leave a little kid crying for her mother on the floor am I?” he said, brushing away the praise, but Castiel kept looking at him reverently.

“You’re amazing,” he breathed and they moved away from the crowd, struggling on the uphill incline which was now unabashedly pronounced. “I know you don’t believe it. But you are.”

“I just wish I could save everyone,” Dean admitted, looking around at the crowds of people panicking and scrabbling for a lifeboat. Castiel nodded.

“You can’t, although I know you’d try. But you saved one and that’s enough.” Dean nodded.

“You know, when I was younger I wanted to be a fireman,” he said. “To save people.” Castiel stroked his arm. “In fact, maybe I still do.”

He swallowed.

“I think it would suit you,” Castiel said earnestly and Dean smiled. He needed to tell Castiel what he had been going to tell him before this mess started, but it didn’t seem like the right moment.

“Maybe,” he said. They stood in silence for a moment as another boat was unloaded and another flare rocket went off and more people emerged from below, looking more panicked than ever. The water must have risen pretty high by now and it was spilling across the bow.

Dean looked over at Castiel but he was staring across the water, as if deep in thought. Then he opened his mouth, paused and said;

“How long do you think it takes to fall in love, Dean? A year? A month?” he paused again. “A day?”

Dean looked at his hands. He heard Castiel sigh.

“I personally think it depends.” Castiel continued and Dean fidgeted. “I think, if someone special comes along,…it can take a lot less than that.”

“You talkin’ bout love at first sight?” Dean said gruffly. This was too difficult. He didn’t want to talk about feelings, not now.

“I suppose.” Castiel said and Dean’s peripheral vision saw him look down at the floor.

“Maybe not first sight,” Dean grunted. “But quite quick, if they’re something special.”

Castiel nodded and they stood in awkward silence for a moment, watching another lifeboat fill.

“Cas,” Dean said finally. “I’ve decided something.”

Castiel turned to him, eyebrow raised.

“When we get back, after all this, I’m gonna tell him,” he took a deep breath. “I’m gonna tell my dad that I don’t want to be his little clone anymore. I want to be my own man.”

Castiel grinned from ear to ear and Dean smiled a little in return.

“Dean, that’s fantastic,” he said sincerely. “I’m so proud of you.”

Dean adjusted his collar. “You don’t need to be proud of me. Was your idea.”

Castiel bit his lip. “No, Dean. This is your decision and…and I think you’ve made the right one.”

Dean nodded. “See, I was thinking when you were…gone…about what you said. And I, uh, think that I, maybe, deserve to be happy,” he glanced towards the lifeboats. “I’ve done a lot for him and I think I’ve earned something in return.”

Castiel grinned.

“I couldn’t have done it without you,” Dean said quietly and reached for Castiel’s hand. “I woulda just gone home and carried on with my shitty life without realising. So I still don’t regret this trip,” he said as yet another lifeboat was lowered, with slightly more people on his time. He looked at Castiel and his eyes were so full of raw emotion that Dean’s heart flipped. He wanted to kiss him so badly, but they were completely in view. The band struck up a new melody that Dean vaguely recognised. It poured hauntingly across the ship, as did the water, surging more quickly up the deck. Dean’s ears retuned into the sounds around him, the silence of the night pierced by people shouting.  Dean gritted his teeth.

“This is the last lifeboat on this side!” They heard the steward call again. “Please move to the port side, I repeat, please move to the port side.”

There was a moment’s pause before people began to scramble over themselves to reach the other side, panic rising with every tilt of the boat as it began to lilt towards the starboard side. Dean and Castiel exchanged a look and followed the crowd, though the glimmer of hope inside them was dimming every moment. It was difficult to walk on the slant and they saw people fall over and slide down the deck. The water was pooling along the bow and with a tremendous splash the back end broke out of the water and Castiel’s hand snapped to Dean’s shoulder to keep steady and people screamed as the deck became even more unwieldy. The boat was going down much faster than Dean had expected. The starboard crowd pushed into the one that had already formed on the port side, and there was a lot of pushing, then a stunned community gasp as one of the stewards fired shots into the air, Dean flinched in time to them and then man yelled.

“Everybody settle down! Women and children only!”

~

A man hurried forwards with his daughter and Castiel felt a twinge in his chest. It was the girl he’d danced with just two days ago. She cried as her father tried to unhook her hand. Castiel pushed forwards through the throngs of people.

“Daddy’s coming on a later boat, okay?” He assured but the girl continued to cry as he stroked her head. “Daddy will see you soon.”

She was pulled into the boat and made to sit down by a woman that clearly wasn’t the child’s mother, for she cried and reached out her arms to her father still. He blew her a kiss and turned away as the lifeboat was lowered. He met Castiel’s eyes, who could do nothing but give him a sympathetic look. The man nodded and turned away, disappearing into the crowd. Castiel watched the boat lower with dread before turning towards Dean. He too had seen the scene and his jaw was clenched. They moved back as a new lifeboat descended to be filled. Then someone screamed;

“It’s the last one!” A huge cry sounded in the crowd and soon people shoved and pushed forwards, some falling over in a desperate attempt to reach the boat. Castiel clung grimly onto Dean’s wrist to stop them being trampled. Another round of shots was fired into the air, backlit by another red flare.

“Everybody please remain calm!” The steward yelled over the noise. “Women and children _only._ ” Castiel closed his eyes in resignation. They weren’t getting on this lifeboat. They weren’t getting on any lifeboat.

Fuck.

Dean and Castiel exchanged a silent glance then nodded. They moved away from the frantic crowd and pushed up towards the stern, which was hovering above the water. Castiel felt dizzy and they clung grimly onto a rail to keep themselves upright.

“We won’t drown,” Castiel said finally.  Dean turned to him.

“Huh?” He said.

“It’s not drowning that will get us,” he said quietly. “It’s the cold.”

“Hey, Cas, don’t talk like that,” Dean said and grabbed his hand. “Rescue boat’s coming.”

Castiel sighed. He wanted to believe that. Half an hour ago he had. He was convinced that, just because Dean had rescued him from his prison, that they had a free ride out of here, that they would make it just because it only seemed fair that they be allowed more than four days together. But now the last lifeboat was lowering, the deck was almost half drowned in water and there was no sign of help. He wanted to believe Dean so badly, But Castiel he was sure, for all his bravado, Dean had come to the same conclusion. They weren’t getting saved.  
“It’s the middle of the night, in April in the Arctic Ocean,” Castiel reminded him, though he was sure Dean knew. “The water’ll be freezing. Below freezing.”

“Yout think of the hypothemiwhatsits?” Dean asked and Castiel nodded.

“Fuck,” Dean said stupidly. Then again louder. “FUCK!”

A few people turned their heads and he waved in apology. A priest was hovering near the stern and people were falling over themselves to reach him, begging for absolution and raising their eyes heavenwards, screaming desperate prayers.

“They pray too loud,” Castiel said and Dean’s attention turned back to him.

“Cas, fuck this.” Dean yelled. “I’ve been through enough. Screw letting my dad down easy. The moment we get to New York I’m gonna punch him in the face, jump in a car and ride away with you and never let you out of my sight. Fuck.”

Castiel smiled at Dean’s promise.

“I’d like that,” he said truthfully. “Though I’m sure your father doesn’t deserve to be hit.”

“I’m serious Cas,” Dean said quietly. “Losing you yesterday was…bad…I’m not letting that happen again.”

“Don’t worry, Dean,” Castiel said and squeezed the other man’s hand, though it was so cold he could barely feel it. “I’m not leaving you again.”

“Good,” Dean muttered.

The last lifeboat departed.

“Every man for himself,” someone yelled. “Every man for himself!”

Castiel looked down the length of the boat. The top deck was half submerged and people were scrambling away from the rising waters to the stern, which was tilting ever higher. The screaming grew louder and more desperate. The band finished the tune it was playing with a final haunting note as they clung onto the rail and each other’s hands with screaming knuckles, knees straining under the pressure of keeping them upright.

Castiel looked heavenwards at the stars and whispered a silent prayer to anyone who listening that he might please be spared the rest of his life to spend it with the man next to him.

 

~~~

Dean closed his eyes for a moment, trying to anchor himself into the scene but he couldn’t comprehend what was happening. The unsinkable Titanic was plummeting further into the water every moment. There were no lifeboats left. Help hadn’t arrived. It didn’t compute. He couldn’t understand anything except the cold press of Castiel’s hand against his own. He centred on that, finding momentary comfort until the sounds of renewed screaming snapped his eyes open again. For a second Dean though he hadn’t actually managed to open his eyes. The entire vessel had been plunged into darkness; every bright light that had illuminated the ghastly scene was gone, leaving only the moon and stars’ futile light to conduct them. He hadn’t heard Castiel gasp behind him, but when he turned to look, his mouth was hanging open. Dean was sure their expressions matched; he had somewhat assumed that the lights would just stay on. Now that he thought about it, he was surprised they had lasted this long. The band had stopped playing and the only sounds that could be heard were those of panicked men, women and children, screaming for help, screaming for each other, screaming to their lord for salvation.

Someone yelled ‘every man for himself!” again and father down the deck people began to throw themselves into the water with nerve wracking splashes. Others slipped and fell down the deck as its gradient continued to increase, tipping dangerously towards the starboard side. Dean cringed and clutched the rail more tightly, Castiel’s hand still welded to his own. A dreadful creak sounded above the panic on deck and faces turned to look again, to see one of the ships’ funnels topple with a lazy sobriety into the water, a huge smack echoing against its metal as it hit the water and it sent a shockwave through the sea. There was silence for a moment as people gazed in horror.

“Fuck,” Dean muttered. There was nothing else to say.

“Shit,” Castiel said behind him.

Dean looked at Castiel, who had turned to face the sky.

“Dean,” he said, so softly Dean barely heard above the renewed din. “Look, it’s Orion. Remember him?”

Confused, he followed Castiel’s gaze and indeed, spread out in the sky above them was the familiar shape of the hunter.

“Of course I remember,” Dean said. “But now ain’t the time for stargazing, Cas.”

“Dean,” Castiel began and turned around to face the other man again. His voice was filled with a pressing sadness that Dean’s heart ached to quell, if only he wasn’t so terrified himself.

“If I don’t….and you do…” he began but Dean cut him off.                        

“No, Cas!” he said sharply. “We are _not_ having this conversation. Not now, not ever, okay?”

“Dean!” Castiel said, his voice raised and fringed with a panicked anger that Dean could feel boiling up inside himself. “In a few minutes every inch of this damn ship is going to be underwater! We need to have this conversation _now_.” Their eyes met and Dean’s heart shattered into a thousand icy fragments. Castiel’s eyes, normally so full of happiness, were sparkling with moisture which threatened to brim over, his face pinched and raw from cold and Dean felt a stab of emotion in his heart that he hadn’t experienced since his father had taken him aside and told him that Mary didn’t make it out of the fire.

“Okay,” Dean said quietly, his own eyes pricking and he nodded for Cas to continue.

“If I don’t make it…and you do,” Castiel began slowly and Dean nodded, unable to look away. “Then look at him. Look at Orion every night he’s out and think of me.”

“Cas, no-one’s dying tonight!” Dean said, shaking his head. He didn’t want to even think about the next five minutes, let alone months into the future, particularly if they did not involve Cas.

“Dean,” he insisted, taking Dean’s hand in his own and looked at Dean with terrifying earnestness. “Promise? Promise you won’t forget me.”

Dean almost laughed.

“Forget you? Cas, I knew the moment I first saw you that I wouldn’t _ever_ forget you.”

“I’m sure that’s an exaggeration,” Castiel said, but he squeezed Dean’s hand in his own, both so numb they could barely feel the other’s and Castiel’s lips trembled.

“Maybe now’s the time for exaggeration,” Dean said, anger boiling up inside him again. “Four days!” he said, near shouting. “Four days is not enough! I want forty! Hell, I want four thousand! I want as long as humanly possible to spend with you because you changed me in so many ways and I never want that to end. You saved me Cas, I don’t even know _how_ but you saved me. From myself, from my shitty future, from my loneliness. And now this fucking ship had to sink and if I fucking lose you, Cas, I swear to god!” He panted.

A single tear spilled out of Castiel’s eye.

“It’s not fair,” Dean ended quietly. “It ain’t fair and you ain’t leaving me tonight,” he said with as much confidence as he could muster. “And I ain’t going anywhere either. I’m not finished with you yet.”

Castiel nodded. “Okay,” he said. “Okay.”

He looked poised to say something else but before Dean could find out what it was, a tremendous creaking followed by a shattering crash sounded behind them. Castiel’s eyes widened and Dean turned to look. The sight that met his eyes was one he was sure would be burned into them forever.

The bow of the boat had broken away completely from the half they stood on, the rooms within visible like a dolls house for just a moment before it began its funeral dive into the churning sea. The people around the pair fell completely silence as they watched it fall. Their half of the boat remained tilted in the air for a lingering moment before falling, slowly, then faster back into the sea, lilting to the port side as it went. Dean and Castiel scrambled across the deck to escape the tides of water the splashed onto the port side and they both grabbed the rails as they fell, hands never leaving the other’s as they felt the crash as the bottom of the ship hit the water again. There was silence for a moment, before people began to scrabble from the floor, yelling.

Dean turned to Castiel, speechless.

“Not long,” Castiel said. “We really don’t have very long.”

Dean nodded mutely and Castiel tugged on his hand and pulled him towards himself.

“Come on,” he said but Dean’s eyes were still focussed on the horrors in front of him. People were crying and scrambling up the deck, while others fell down it, screaming as they hit the water and the engulfing darkness framed the scene in confusion and panic. He was four years old again, he was watching his house be consumed by flames, he held Sammy in his arms, and he wanted his mother to come out alive and well…

No. He shook himself. He was on board a sinking ship with Castiel desperately pulling him somewhere and he was sure it would make sense to comply. He took a last look as the bow half took its final slow descent into the water.

“May god have mercy on our souls,” someone whispered next to them.

 

Castiel tugged Dean along until they were right against the stern of the boat. A different vision of the pair of them standing, happy, at the other end flashed through Dean’s mind. The other end which was now making its final journey to the bottom of the sea. Dean felt like he was going to throw up.

Castiel clasped onto the railings and pulled Dean up beside him to do the same. Others began to join them, cottoning on to the fact that the half of the ship still left was beginning to tilt upright again, at an alarming pace now it was exposed to the full fury of the sea.

“This is it,” Castiel said and Dean nodded, unable to speak. Castiel brought their linked hands up between them and shook them in front of Dean’s face.

“Don’t let go,” Castiel said. “Whatever you do, don’t let go of my hand.”

“I had no intention of doing so, trust me,” Dean said. “I read about this somewhere,” he said, “When it sinks it’s going to make a whirlpool. We’ll be sucked in.”

“Right,” Castiel said, nodding. “Which is why you’ve got to swim hard and not let go.”

“I can’t swim,” Dean reminded him numbly.

“I don’t give a fuck what you can’t do,” Castiel said. “It’s what you _have_ to do.”

“Right,” Dean nodded, then more confidently. “Right.”

The boat was now just degrees away from vertical. Dean didn’t look down, and instead focussed as intently as he could on Castiel’s face. There was something he needed to say but he couldn’t phrase it properly.

“Cas, do you know what I thought when I first saw you?” Dean said, echoing Castiel’s own words from just a night ago. Castiel shook his head and clenched Dean’s hand tighter. “I thought you looked like an angel. I can’t remember why, but there was some reason…”

Castiel bit his lip, which was threatening to tremble.

“And my mom always used to say angels were watching over me,” Dean said. He didn’t even know where he was going with that thought, so he left it, but Castiel looked like he’d understood and nodded, eyes blinking with moisture.

“I’m named after an angel,” he said quietly. Dean nodded. It made sense. He wasn’t sure why, but it did.

“I still don’t regret this journey,” Dean reminded him and the panic in Castiel’s eyes softened.

“I will never regret it,” Castiel promised and squeezed Dean’s hand. The sound of screams pierced Dean’s ears and he and Castiel were hanging from the rail, rather than standing on deck.

“This is it,” Castiel said again, never breaking eye contact. “Don’t let go.” Dean squeezed his hand in assurance. Both chanced a look down and the murderous waters looked back at them, much nearer than they had hoped and Dean’s heart felt like it was going to hammer out of his chest.

They looked at each other again, unblinking.

Dean realised he’d never told Castiel how beautiful his eyes were.

“See you on the other side,” he said with false bravado and Castiel nodded, clenching Dean’s hand tightly. With silent mutual agreement they closed their eyes and felt themselves plunge, finally, into the all-consuming bitter waves which dragged them under and drowned everything else away.

 

 

 

~~~~~

 

 

Silence.

 

Total silence.

 

Total all-consuming silence.

 

How strange. Dean was sure that just moments before it had not been silent.

 

So … _quiet_.

 

He wasn’t quite sure where he was. There seemed to be a force pushing in on him from all sides. It was very dark.

That was because his eyes were closed. Right.

He didn’t really want to open them. He wondered if was in that strange stage of sleep where one is half-awake.

That would explain the fact that his brain wasn’t functioning.

He’d been having a dream…and odd dream…there was a car…or was it a boat?…and water….too much water…and a piercing set of lights…Where they stars? Or rocket flares? Or even…eyes?

 

Eyes. Definitely eyes. Blue eyes.

 

_Cas_ **.**

 

Dean’s felt like his mind had been ripped from a pool of quicksand and it started churning into gear again. The shock of the cold water had momentarily jarred all feeling and coherent thought from his body but in a freezing shock he’d been brought back to consciousness and remembered something important.

His hand twitched for contact but felt only water. Castiel’s hand was supposed to be there. It had gone. He’d let go.

Now that Dean had focused, he noticed that his watery universe was far from silent. He could hear muffled sounds of people screaming above him…A moment later he became somewhat aware of his body positioning and noticed with a jolt of fear that he was being dragged downwards. Or at least what he thought was downwards. He still hadn’t opened his eyes. He wasn’t supposed to be going down, he was sure, though his brain still wasn’t quite communicating with his body… How easy it would be to let go…was there really any problem with going down? He couldn’t remember what he was supposed to do… His brain fogged up again.

 _Cas_.

With a rush, Dean’s mind was returned to him from the cold and he surged upwards in desperation, remembering Cas’s words. He had to get to the surface, he had to find Cas and they had to get to New York and start a life together. He needed to find Cas’s hand again. He wasn’t supposed to have let go. His legs kicked instinctively, his arms flailing rapidly against the tides of the water and he pushed forwards with strength he didn’t think he had and he pitched upwards with only one thought in mind; Castiel.

 

~~~

 

Castiel flung his head above the water and heaved a breath into his burning lungs. With the pressure of the sea gone he could hear everything, people screaming for their loved ones and for rescue boats which showed no sign of coming.

“Dean,” he yelled, joining the cacophony, his voice raw and cracking in the cold. And by fuck the water was cold. He had not braced himself enough for the shock and his teeth felt like they were about to gauge each other out as they chattered, his limbs begging for him to let them seize up and rest…he couldn’t let that happen.

“Dean!” he yelled again, pushing forwards through the mass of people who weren’t whom he was looking for. “Dean!” he called, desperately into the night air, unable to see anything clearly with only the moonlight to guide him, just a fuzzy set of shapes.

He’d let go. He’d failed Dean and in the shock of hypothermia had lost him. Castiel clenched his teeth determinedly. They’d gotten this far. He couldn’t lose Dean now. He screamed again. Panic rose every second that he received no reply. Dean couldn’t swim. Dean would also have been paralysed by the force of the cold. Dean couldn’t be far from here. Castiel gulped in a breath of freezing air and ducked down into the water again. It was useless. It was so dark that he couldn’t make out a single shape, not even that of the Titanic itself as it made its inevitable dirge downwards. He gasped back to the surface and screamed again.

 

~~~

 

Dean’s lungs were failing. His muscles were protesting in pain. The cold was stabbing him, trying to force him to quit and let himself be carried under the current. His brain was begging for him to take up the offer and end it all peacefully now. Dean’s heart paralysed itself gently in the water. Dean’s soul, however, reminded him that Sammy was waiting for him at home to tell him about everything that had happened. Dad would want to know how the business transaction went. Ellen would want to mother him and force him to eat a whole apple pie. Castiel was waiting somewhere on the surface, waiting for Dean’s hand to reclaim his. Dean was waiting for the better life that this voyage had given him promise of. With a final, desperate thrust he felt his head break the surface of the water and the freezing press of the water was replaced by the freezing stab of night air as he gulped in the largest breath his lungs would allow and they blazed in applause.

“Cas!” he screamed. “Cas, I’m here!”

 

~~~

 

 

“Dean?”

Castiel spun around, to face the direction he had heard his name above the jumbled chaos of appellations that were being shouted.

“Dean!”

With new energy, he struck out and Dean did the same and a few stokes later, Castiel had Dean wrapped up in his arms and legs, clutching him as close as possible, not caring any more who saw.

“Fuck, I thought I’d lost you,” he choked into Dean’s shoulder.  
“Cas, Cas, I let go. I’m so sorry, I’m so sorry,” Dean panted.

“No,” Castiel said. “No it’s my fault. I’ve got you Dean, I’ve got you. Told you I had you. It’s alright.”

“Fuck, Cas, it’s c-cold. The water d-didn’t look that cold…”

“I know…g-god, I will never c-complain about cold again. The rescue b-boat will be c-coming soon. It must be.”

“G-god I hope so, Cas. Hey, you k-know what I r-really want right now?”

“W-what?”

“T-that hot t-tomato soup you b-brought me…t-that first evening.” Castiel nodded emphatically and gripped Dean’s shoulders as they treaded water, legs knocking against each other.

“As soon as we get b-back,” he said. “I-I am buying us the b-biggest, hottest t-t-tomato soup in New York.” Dean revelled in the fact that he was holding Castiel in his arms again. Everything was going to be alright…he’d found Castiel …he was never letting go…

“D-d-Dean…I’m s-scared.” Castiel admitted quietly into the night. The screaming had died down a lot and save for the lap of waves, there was a rather calm hush around them.

“S-s-s-so am I C-cas,” Dean replied, his voice cracked with cold, “but we’ll be alr-r-r-ight. P-p-promise.”

Castiel knew that that word all too well; he’d promised the stars to a man with pretty green eyes and a heart of gold to make him understand what he meant to Castiel and now look where they were. But his brain was too tired to grasp the concept of doubt anymore, so had no choice but to believe Dean and he just nodded and buried his head into Dean’s wet shoulder, accepting that if this man promised they’d be alright, then they’d have be alright.

“B-b-b-ut I can’t feel my h-h-hands…or f-f-f-eet.” he whispered..

“C-c-can you s-s-s-still feel your f-f-f-face?” Dean asked, nudging his shoulder so Castiel was pushed up to look at him. Castiel nodded again, the movement sending a paralysing shiver through his whole weary body.

“Then y-y-y-ou can feel this,” Dean said and pressed his lips gently to Castiel’s. They felt like ice-cubes under his. Castiel closed his eyes and Dean followed suit, unable to see him but still wonderfully aware of his presence.

“Yeah,” Castiel whispered. “I f-f-felt that.”

Their mouths both opened slightly against each other, breathing in the other’s air as a substitute for the frozen knives that stabbed their throat with every breath taken from the night.

“S-still don’t regret it,” Dean said, voice barely audible as the words rolled away across the waters as glacial breath but he felt their weight leave him behind.

“M-m-m-e  n-n-either,” Castiel replied, just as quiet, as if he were somewhere far away and not right there in Dean’s arms. Dean didn’t open his eyes to check though…he was sure he could feel the other man still…. but he was so tired….he couldn’t feel his legs…

“I l-l-l-love you,” the words fell from Castiel’s mouth and straight into Dean’s. Dean pressed another gentle kiss to capture them and keep them between them forever.

“I l-l-love you too.” he replied, the sentiment cutting through the fog that was beginning to cloud his brain. Of course he did. Why hadn’t he said it hours ago? He did love Castiel. He had for a long time. Or had it only been a few days? He couldn’t remember. They felt like the same thing. He couldn’t open his eyes anymore…he could only feel Castiel shivering with him, the only thing keeping him grounded.

“When w-w-w-we get home…n-n-never gonna l-l-let you outta m-my sight-t-t,” He promised, desperately trying to hold on tighter. Dean wasn’t sure Castiel could even understand the words; he couldn’t get his mouth to work properly, inalienably affected by the tremors that were wracking his body. His bones ached and as a final testament he squeezed Castiel’s shoulders an imperceptible bit tighter. Castiel hummed appreciatively.  
“I k-k-k-know Dean…I know.”

His brain was so heavy…and the water was so cold…He thought of Castiel - the way he’d had been, the way he looked when he laughed…the way he’d looked in soft light and Dean’s heart burst over with love. He tried to say it again. He remembered Castiel bright and full of energy…an energy that he just couldn’t find any more within him…too cold…too tired…too peaceful. A frame of black faded onto his subconscious and he clung onto Castiel with the fragments of his mind. He was looking forward to seeing him again…soon.

There was no noise, for moments that seemed to stretch into eternity. Castiel couldn’t hear anything any longer, not Dean, not the other passengers who had fallen with them. He couldn’t see anything….that was because his eyes were closed, he realised with a sluggish delay. He didn’t remember closing them… He summoned the final fragment of energy he could muster, from the fire that still burned in his heart which had only ever really torched for Dean. The water didn’t feel so cold anymore…Dean’s forehead was still pressed against his, eyes closed and body unmoving. The words Castiel pushed out were forced through a brain shutting down so completely he wasn’t even sure what they were…they were so quiet that he could barely register them, their only witness being the cruel night as it pressed, unmoved, around the scene.

 

“D-d-d-Dean…D-d-d-d-Dean?”

 

“Have you f-f-f-f-fallen asleep?”

 

“I d-d-d-d-don’t t-t-t-t-think you’re s-s-s-s-s-supposed to do that.” He almost laughed but it was too much energy for his freezing bones.

 

“I’m not s-s-o c-cold anymore, D-Dean. But I’m s-sleepy…I think I’ll j-join you.”

 

The words got quieter still as all sound and motion stilled around the pair.

 

“Hey, D-d-d-Dean?” he said, words no more than a whisper. “W-w-w-e’ll f-finally w-wake up t-t-together, h-hey? W-w-won’t t-that b-b-be nice…”

He tried to kiss Dean again but wasn’t sure if his lips actually moved. Castiel closed his eyes again, mind far away from the freezing waters. He was with Dean…he was so happy, looking into his green eyes again for the first time…so bright…so entrancing…so beautiful…

 

It’s 2.30am on 15th April 1912 and the world is silent and still, save for the gentle push of the dark waves and the watchful twinkle of the stars.

 

 

 

 

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

 _Just like the light of the morning,_ __  
After the darkness has gone  
The shadow of my love is falling  
On a place where the sun always shines  
Don’t you know that’s where our hearts both belong?

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m not crying…*
> 
> I hope you enjoyed the fic and thank-you so much for reading and for every kudos and review! They make the effort worth it ^_^. I would like to know what you thought of the last chapter(s) as they were my favourite.
> 
> (PS Find me on tumblr @ baroquearoundtheclock)
> 
> Thanks again for reading!


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